The Diamond Bridge

By P.Z. Johns

After her mother dies, a young woman discovers that she was abducted when she was two years old.  Instead of being kidnapped, though, she may have been rescued, but from who or what? She comes to learn that her original birth parents were witches and she finds refuge in her parents' old coven house. She considers claiming a legacy that rightfully belongs to her, but she learns that her inheritance includes more than things of this world. She wants to avenge her parents' death but before that, she must restore her lost occult powers. What she doesn't realize, however, is that to extract her revenge she must defeat a source of evil that has existed since the beginning of time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: P.Z. Johns
• Release date: Sep 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223020615

P.Z. Johns

P. Z. Johns was born in Canada and now lives with his Illinois-born wife in the United States. After spending a lifetime reading science fiction, P. Z. started writing when he retired from a career in business. He began working on a science fiction novel but set that aside to complete a family memoir dedicated to his daughter. At the same time, he reviewed new books for a sci-fi publisher. This book is the second of his novels dedicated to his daughter. When he is not writing, P. Z. is an avid video gamer and enjoys meeting players from around the world. He has begun work on another novel entitled “Locri: Portal to Hell.”

Book preview

Other Books by P.Z. Johns

The Sum of Small Efforts

When Strangers Marry

Wildfire

Locri: Portal to Hell

Dedicated to my Beta Readers

I have a terrific group of beta readers,

and so far,

no one has told me to try a new hobby. 

I especially want to thank my main beta reader

my wife. 

She possesses an enormous amount of patience.

Thank you all very much!

Who knows why we were taught to fear the witches,

and not those who burned them alive?

C.J. Cooke

___________________

Annual Wiccan Holidays

There are eight holidays on the Wiccan Calendar.

These Wiccan holidays are called Sabbats.

Witches celebrate their holidays from sundown on the

date of the holiday

through sundown the next day.

___________________

Copyright © 2023 P.Z. Johns

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact: [e-mail]

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to actual events, places,

persons or other entities are coincidental.

I Thought I Was Me

THERE’S THAT WOMAN again! I saw her out of the corner of my eye. She came to the visitation last night, and she was at the cemetery again this morning. Now she’s here at the wake and, just like at the visitation and funeral, she’s taking pictures! Who takes pictures at a funeral?

I held the wake at Foxy’s Irish Pub. It really is a bar we hang out at, but they have a nice side room that I reserved for the afternoon. Besides the beverages, Foxy’s has a good kitchen, so I figured the funeral guests could get a decent lunch after the cemetery. I don’t remember when the last time was that I’ve eaten, but I’ll deal with that later. Alisha will probably bring take out to my house later this evening.

But I didn’t know who the woman was that’s taking pictures! She had an average build, normal height and she was wearing the same medium blue suit that she was wearing at the visitation. I was talking with mom’s boss last night when I first saw her. He was telling me how he will miss mom because she was a wonderful 911-operator. He said she completely understood the needs of both the police and the EMTs while she had total compassion for the callers who were in distress. I missed most of what he was saying because I was concentrating on the woman in blue. She was standing by mom’s casket and I’m sure she was taking pictures of mom lying there! Who takes photos of people lying in their casket? At first it didn’t register on me, but the more I watched, the more I realized it was true. She just took mom’s picture!

By the time I excused myself with mom’s boss, the woman was already walking towards the exit. I followed her, but that’s when I got cornered by one of my mother’s neighbors who offered their sympathies, and told me that if I needed anything, just knock on their door. I wanted to pull away, but the neighbor continued saying that she loved my mother and that she’d be glad to help me in any way she could. By the time I could get away from the neighbor, the woman in the blue suit was at the door of the funeral room we were in. She looked back and our eyes locked. When she saw me, she had a look on her face that was both startled but also showed curious amazement. For a split second, I thought she might have been frightened of me, but I chalked that up to the fact that I caught her taking photos. Then she turned and slipped out the door. When I got to the front doors of the actual funeral home building and stepped outside, her car was already pulling onto the street, and I couldn’t see the make or license plate of the car she drove.

Then I saw her again earlier this morning at the cemetery, but she kept her distance and stood near some trees. She was still in the medium blue suit, but I could tell that she was taking pictures. There was a light rain, and she held an umbrella, but she kept her smart phone in her right hand about shoulder height. I think she was taking photos of the mourners. When I glanced back after the service, she had gone.

Now she is here at the wake! There was a higher platform level with tables that looked down on the main room and I saw her up on that level. Again, I had the same problem as at the visitation. By the time I excused myself from the conversation with a young cop who was hitting on me, the woman had partly opened the side exit leading to the parking lot. She looked back, and I was trying to hurry up the short staircase to that higher level of guest tables towards her. Our eyes locked again and, the same as last night, she had a look of curious amazement mixed with fear. She was gone by the time I got to the door, and I just stood shaking my head thinking, Who takes pictures at a funeral? Then I wondered why she looked afraid of me.

My name is Joan Priest and my thirtieth birthday is still a couple of months away. Mom was fifty-seven, so I guess that means I’m past the age when she had me. So far, I just haven’t met anyone who completely captivates me, but the truth is I’m not looking too hard either. Alisha, on the other hand, is always looking for Mister Right. Alisha is my best friend, and she is the same age as me. I sometimes think we’ll probably grow old and become the cat lady spinsters together. I just don’t know how many cats are too many.

Funerals are hard to get through, even at the best of times. Not that there is a good time for a funeral, but burying my mother left me devastated. It was sudden, a heart attack, and no one saw it coming, not even mom’s doctor. But mankind invented a gathering called a wake that softens the blow, somewhat. Being with people, not necessarily friends or relatives, but just being in the middle of a crowd, makes things a little easier. It gets our minds off our sadness and softens the crushing enormity of it all. We’re just not as lonely being around other people. Not that I have any relatives here at the wake! My dad, Paul Priest, died in a car accident when I was only two years old. Mom saw a few other men over the years, but I guess no one really captured her heart. Mom also never talked much about dad’s family. I might have relatives that I don’t know about, but it’s always just been me and mom. I don’t have grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, or anyone else. Don’t ask me why I don’t have relatives like other people do, but mom always explained it all away. Right now, I just have a few friends at this wake and the others are people that mom worked with at the 911 emergency department. But that’s okay. I’m surrounded by people who are taking my mind off things. Seeing the casket for the first time was a shock. Like a punch in the gut, it really took the air out of my chest. I realized at that moment that my life would change, but I never imagined how much of a life-altering event this would truly be.

Liam’s here and that’s a comfort. He’s the guy I’ve been dating lately, and he’s nice, but he’s just not exciting. Maybe he’s my boyfriend because he actually isn’t here that much. He lives in Covington, across from Cincinnati, and his work brings him to parts of Tennessee. He stays with me when he’s traveling through. I’m in Lexington, Kentucky. My girlfriend, Alisha, doesn’t like Liam. She thinks he is self-centered and conceited. Liam’s opinion of Alisha is mutual, but as I said, I think he is my boyfriend because he isn’t around that much. It’s true he is probably all about himself, but I have not been looking for a rock solid ‘happily ever-after’ sort of guy, anyway. Maybe that’s why Liam fits the bill.

For the bigger picture, though, I’m constantly telling myself that I want more out of life. Unfortunately, I never imagined how much more excitement life was about to throw at me. I soon came to learn that boredom, while not thrilling, was at least safe!

About a week after the funeral, I got a call from mom’s doctor’s office. It was Darlene, the nurse who assists my mom’s general practitioner. I work in the Lexington City Hall as a Councilor’s Assistant and, as it was a personal call, I stepped away from my desk and went out into the main corridor. As a political aide, my job is to keep a schedule of all meetings, deal with all correspondence, field all citizen calls and stay on top of my politician’s social media pages.

As I slowly strolled, going nowhere, Darlene told me that Doctor Wolfe had finished some reports she made on mom, but when Darlene entered them in the patient database, she noticed mom had upcoming appointments with other doctors, the eye doctor and mom’s gynecologist. She would have canceled the appointments herself, now that mom died, but Darlene knew I held both mom’s Financial and Medical Power of Attorney, so she told me I should cancel those appointments myself.

Then Darlene said, Doctor Wolfe finished the report on your mother’s cholesterol and triglycerides for the insurance company. These were probably the base cause of your mother’s heart attack. Then she added, Doctor Wolfe says that you should read your mother’s report, because it may also apply to you. Being her daughter, you could get these problems as you get older and there are things we can start now to head off future heart trouble.

I thanked Darlene for being so helpful and told her I’d look at mom’s patient web page and see what the report said. I then thought nothing more about it and went on with my day.

That evening Alisha came over bringing takeout for supper, two orders of chicken fingers and one order of fries for us to split. Naturally, we must watch our girly figures and we must never eat a full order of fries. At least I don’t when Alisha’s around!

Alisha laid the takeout on the living room coffee table. She would probably turn on the TV and watch re-runs of a dumb show about a single woman and her teenage daughter that first aired when Alisha and I were back in high school. It was a mindless and stupid program, usually with no plot, but it was better than watching the news!

I sat on the couch and Alisha went back to the kitchen to get more napkins. They never put enough in the takeout bag, she said, but when she came back, Alisha looked at me and tossed a comment, Small up yuhself.

What? I asked.

Small up yuhself, she repeated. I want to sit on the couch, too.

I slid to my left, but I said, I keep telling you, girl, you have to learn how to speak English in this country! Alisha was from Jamaica and her parents moved to Lexington when she was about twelve years old. We both started high school together and were in many of the same classes. We became friends back then and have been that way ever since. Over the years, Alisha has lost a lot of her accent, but she still could lay it on thick when she wanted.

Now her Jamaican accent got very thick when she said, This Jamaican womahn speaks English better than you MERIKAANS! She stressed that last word, making ‘Americans’ sound extremely redneck. I just shook my head. Alisha and I are about the same size. At five foot six, we’re both about one hundred and twenty-five pounds. She wears her hair in a short, black Pixie-cut and I keep my brown hair long and usually in a ponytail when I’m not at work. With our similar size, we can fit in each other’s clothes, and we often do swap, but given her Caribbean Voodoo style, some of her things look silly on me.

Alisha did not immediately turn on the TV. Besides, she said, I did not come to give you an English lesson. I wanted to tell you I met a guy.

Not again, Alisha! I answered, but added, What’s it been, three this month?

No! Technically, Mark was last month! Then she wagged her finger side to side at me and brought out her Jamaican accent again, Nuh romp wid mi, womahn!

So, I put on a southern redneck accent and answered, Sorry my MERIKAAN ears missed that.

Nuh romp wid mi, womahn! She replied, Don’t mess with me, girl! Then she added in a more normal tone and style, This guy seems different. A bit more refined, educated and more polished. At least he didn’t start by trying to get in my pants.

That’s just reverse psychology, Alisha. All guys want to get in our pants. Before they go out for the evening, they look in their dating ‘playbook’ and decide if they are going to go for a ‘touchdown’ or run a ‘fake-out’ play. Your guy was just running his ‘fake-out’ play.

No, this guy is different. He’s from Boston, or somewhere up there.

Ah-huh, I answered with a sarcastic tone, but asked, How did you meet?

At Foxy’s, at your mother’s wake.

At the wake! I wasn’t sure if I was asking a question or voicing astonishment. It seems many strange people just wandered into mom’s wake!

Not actually in the wake, Alisha answered. He was out in the clubroom and, besides, it was after the wake broke up.

So, what’s his name?

Jason Phillips, she answered, and he’s a hunk!

Alisha talked about her new beau for a bit while we finished eating. When we were done, Alisha turned on the TV and I opened my laptop and looked up mom’s medical portal. Mom kept all her user IDs and passwords in a notebook she told me about and I made a point of bringing that home just for these occasions.

The doctor’s report was fairly standard and had some words that I had no idea what they meant. The doctor also wrote a note directly to me. It talked about reducing cholesterol with things like: eat fruits and vegetables, avoid fat, eat plant-based protein, not red meat and get plenty of exercise. It also said that ‘statins’ were a better-known drug for lowering cholesterol. 

After I finished looking at this part of mom’s chart, I poked around in other reports and documents. One report caught my eye titled ‘Hysterectomy - Rose Priest.’ I stopped on it because I don’t remember mom having a hysterectomy. I suppose it could have been that I was too young to remember. Thinking that was the case, I opened the file and looked for the date of her procedure. The report said a hysterectomy was performed on Rose Priest on June twenty-fourth, nineteen eighty-eight, at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Savannah, Georgia. 

Wait, what did that report say? When was her hysterectomy? I looked back and read it again, then a second and a third time. I realized it wasn’t an original document, but a medical history someone at mom’s doctor’s office filled out years ago. Then I double checked. A different report said a hysterectomy was performed on Rose Priest, yep that’s my mother, on June twenty-fourth, nineteen eighty-eight. I stared at the laptop screen for a few minutes, wondering what I was looking at.

Then I said out aloud to Alisha, Mom’s medical record says that she had a hysterectomy on June twenty-fourth, nineteen eighty-eight in Savannah.

Alisha looked at me and said, So? Lots of women have hysterectomies. What about it? And I thought you told me she came from Savannah.

I’m not talking about the Savannah part. This refers to a total hysterectomy, not a partial one. I added, It says, the removal of the cervix, ovaries, fallopian tubes and so on.

Yeah, that’s what they do, Alisha answered, and your point is exactly what?

The point is, I was born in nineteen-ninety. This was in nineteen-eighty-eight! Mom had a hysterectomy two years before I was born!

Maybe it’s just a mistake, Alisha answered, a typo, or something!

I looked back in her file. I found two other references written by two other doctors that tied back to nineteen-eighty-eight. Even in her gynecologist’s section of her current file, there was a reference to a hysterectomy performed on Rose Priest in nineteen-eighty-eight, two years before I was born!

I just stared off into space bewildered, not seeing Alisha, or the TV, or anything. Then I said out loud, Rose Priest is not my natural mother! Alisha said nothing, but just looked at me. Then, after a moment, I added, I’m not mom’s natural-born daughter!

Imbolc - February 2nd

This day honors the goddess of fertility, fire and healing. Imbolc was when the Cailleach gathered her firewood for the rest of the winter. Legend has it that if she wished to make the winter last a good while longer, she would make sure the weather on Imbolc was bright and sunny, so she could gather plenty of firewood. Therefore, people are relieved if Imbolc is a day of foul weather, as it means the Cailleach is asleep, and winter is almost over. At Imbolc, the Cailleach is said to take the form of a gigantic bird carrying sticks in her beak.

Who Are These People?

I LIVE IN A TOWNHOUSE that is attached to a block of seven other units, but I have the end unit on the west side of the block. As I am not locked between townhouses, I am fortunate to have windows on the side of my house that make my place much more open and brighter. Also, because I live at the end of the attached block, I have a small open area beside me and while it is not part of the designated parking area; it is paved. We all have our own garages and driveways, so tenants don’t need to use the area beside me, but guests sometimes use it. Alisha parks there the most, and I sometimes park there when I want to go directly into my place through my back door.

Most people that use the open space don’t bother me, and after a while I’ve learned to recognize regulars. There is the boyfriend of the girl that lives up on the other block. He sometimes parks beside me overnight, but he is always gone very early in the morning. There is also the brother of one guy that lives in the middle of the block, but he only shows up on game days. Sometimes games are in the afternoon and sometimes the evenings, but in either case I can bet that he’d be gone by midnight.

Lately, I’ve been seeing a white pickup truck, and it seems to park overnight. What’s weird is I think I see somebody sitting in it, but I can’t make them out clearly. There is a lamppost on the opposite side of me, but the way the truck parks, the bed of the truck is lit, but not the cab interior.

I just chalked it all up to life in the city. I make a point of pulling all my drapes on that side of my house at sundown. People outside don’t really bother me, but if I find out somebody is sleeping in their vehicle out there, I’ll tell the ‘super’.

A couple days later, I went to mom’s bank during my lunch hour. I wanted to stop automatic online payments she would make to businesses like the cable TV company. To do her bank business, I naturally had to show my Power of Attorney paper, so they would know I was legitimate. Naturally, when you wave paper like that around, it’s not long before the bank manager shows up, but I’ll give him credit, no pun intended, he was very polite and understanding.

Hello, he started, Are you Miss Priest?

Yes, hi, I answered.

I’m George Harper, the manager here. I am so sorry to hear about your mother. She was a long and valued customer for us. Please let me offer my deepest sympathies and let me offer any help I can.

That is very kind of you, sir. Thank you. I thought he meant what he said. And believe me, sir, I can use all the help I can get. I certainly wasn’t expecting anything like this to happen.

These things are always so sudden. He answered, but then continued, Are you the executor of your mother’s estate?

Yes, I am.

Are there any other executors besides yourself? he asked.

No, just me.

You didn’t bring a copy of the will or an executor directive with you today, by any chance, did you?

No, I didn’t think of that. Sorry. I answered.

Please bring it the next time you get a chance. We’ll need to make sure your mother’s file is in order. He paused but then added, You can certainly get far using the Power of Attorney, but if it gets to distributing the estate, we’ll have to make sure our lawyers nod, probate stuff, you understand.

Not a problem, sir. I can do that. It is just that this is all very new for me.

I understand completely. He really was very nice. But let me ask you about your account. Will you be withdrawing your account? And if so, please let us know ahead of time if you will withdraw it in full and close it.

Now he had me! I didn’t know what he was talking about. No, my mother’s accounts are here. My accounts are at a different bank.

I’m not talking about your mother’s accounts. I’m talking about your own account here. It is a joint account.

Joint with my mother?

No, joint with someone else. I’d have to check the name. I know neither of you has ever made a withdrawal.

This is totally news to me. You completely have me at a disadvantage. I was more than surprised.

Your mother may have said something to you a while ago and it has slipped your mind. It’s been open for a long time.

I guess so. Then I asked, Is there much money in it?

Let’s go to my computer and see. He led me to his office. I know there is enough to make our auditors notice. After tapping on his keyboard for a moment, he then said, four-eighty-five, roughly, and some change.

Four hundred and eighty-five dollars? For a moment, I thought his bank auditors seemed pretty picky.

No, Miss Priest, four hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars. After a pause, he added, It’s at a level that I would need to know beforehand if you intend to withdraw it.

I just sat there and stared at him. I was literally speechless! All I was thinking was that lately I feel like Alice trying to figure out what’s going on in Wonderland.

The moment lasted so long that Mr. Harper became uncomfortable, so he said, And can you tell the same to your cosigner?

I didn’t answer at first, but only said, Mom deposited that much money?

No, she didn’t. Well, I shouldn’t quite put it like that. I really don’t know exactly where the money came from. Again, looking at his computer, he said, It shows here that regular quarterly deposits were wired from Carnegie-Mellon Bank in New York. After a pause he asked me again, Can you tell the same to your cosigner about giving us advance notice of a large withdrawal?

You’re losing me, I replied. I’m not sure what you mean by a cosigner.

He could tell I was confused, so he explained, The money in joint accounts belongs to both owners. Either person can withdraw or spend the money at will — even if they weren’t the one to deposit the funds. The bank makes no distinction between money deposited by one person or the other.

Now I felt stupid. Who is the cosigner? Not my mother, I take it?

No, not your mother, he checked his computer screen. It shows here that the cosigner is Morgana Onyx Norwood. Is she a relative?

I thought to myself; I have no idea who Morgana Onyx Norwood is!

When I got back home, the white pickup truck pulled in beside my house right after me. I thought the timing was a bit curious and I couldn’t help but wonder if he followed me to the bank!

A couple days later, on Saturday, I stopped by mom’s house to get some of her things. I wanted to go through some of mom’s things and get ready to give stuff to Goodwill, Salvation Army, or whoever will take it.

I was sorting through mom’s closet when my progress stopped. I found a box of papers on an upper shelf. I’m not even sure you could say that I was making progress with my chore, but I stopped working. All the things in the box amazed me! I took it out to the kitchen and sat at the table to spread things around.

The box was a large sweater box, and it was covered in dust. I had to wipe it down before I opened it again. It was filled with old photographs, newspaper articles, official documents, birth certificates and passports. It seemed like it was a collection of everything that mom gathered over a lifetime. Thumbing through things, I stopped and was amazed to see a photograph of a woman who bore a remarkable resemblance to me, or maybe I bear a striking resemblance to her! The woman looked to be about the age I am now. After finding the hysterectomy papers a couple of days ago, my mind was racing in about five directions at once.

Feeling overwhelmed, I swept up everything and put it all back in the box and brought everything home with me.

I looked at the things in the box again over the next few evenings at home. Most of the items were about people or places in Savannah, Georgia. Mom had told me she had come from Savannah, but she never spent any significant amount of time there as far as I could remember. Once, when I was about eleven years old, we went to Hilton Head with a couple of mom’s friends. On that trip, we spent an afternoon in Savannah, but that’s the only time I remember being there.

Even though I was sifting through the box, I couldn’t stop wondering about the woman in the photograph. Why did mom keep the newspaper articles? They told about people that were killed on a beach outside Savannah. Apparently, a wealthy landowner and his wife were murdered along with their nanny, but their child disappeared, or was abducted, and was never found. What was very weird was all three were shot with arrows and then decapitated! What was even more strange was that the arrows were not the normal longbow type of arrows. The arrows that were used to kill these people were the short bolt types that were used with crossbows!

This happened on the Fourth of July in nineteen-ninety-two. The man’s name was Galan Norwood, and the woman was his wife, Elsbeth. The nanny was named Azura and the two-year-old that went missing was named Morgana. I couldn’t help wondering about these names: Elsbeth, Galan, Azura and Morgana! These people were definitely not the average trailer types named Crystal, Jennifer, and Mary Beth. Then I paused and thought, Morgana? Why does that name keep coming up?

There were several other newspaper articles about the missing child. The community naturally had become very concerned about the murders, especially because they were so gruesome. Speculation even questioned whether they did the entire assassination just to swipe the child. It was odd, however, that they found three arrows shot into the child’s stroller. Why abduct a child and shoot the stroller?

The attack occurred at a calm portion of the Savannah River,