📎A/N. Hello my lovelies!!

I hope your weekend is going well.  Out of idle curiosity, I thought I would check the Wattpad World Map for Witch Doctor... and I was so very surprised!! Only 5 chapters in and we have readers from 63 countries! OMG. And they are... in no particular order  *drum roll please*

Canada, USA, Mexico, Dominican Rep, Jamaica, Puerto Rico, Honduras, Costa Rica, Panama, Trinidad & Tobago, Suriname, Paraguay, Argentina, South Africa, Namibia, Kenya, Uganda, Nigeria, Ghana, Morocco, Tunisia, Libya, Egypt, Israel, Lebanon, Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, United Kingdom, Isle of Man, Ireland, Norway, Sweden, Finland, Denmark, Germany, Netherlands, Belgium, France, Spain, Portugal, Switzerland, Italy, Poland, Czech Rep., Slovakia, Hungary, Croatia, Ukraine, Romania, Macedonia, Greece, Pakistan, India, Nepal, Bangladesh, Japan, Korea, Taiwan, Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia, Brunei, Fiji, Australia, New Zealand.

Thank you all so very much for choosing to read my story. I am so very grateful!

Before you read on, be warned, there is mild gore in this chapter...  So, if you are feint of heart, may be give this chapter a miss.. 

Don't forget to vote and all comments greatly appreciated.

Take care and enjoy the rest of your weekend.

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Amos frowned and glanced up at the overhead lights in irritation. The dull glow was not bright enough to allow him to study the old and weathered parchment which had been carefully rolled flat against the makeshift architect style easel. The visibility was something that couldn't be helped. The subterranean gallery, hidden from prying eyes, had no opening that would allow natural sunlight to grace the dark stone chamber.

He reached for the retracting desk lamp and, after switching it on, returned his focus to the astrological map that had been penned a millennium before. As he continued to compare the weathered lines and marks against the pages in an equally ancient manuscript, his foot tapped in time to Mozart's Serenade No. 13 in G major. A small smile graced his lips as he gave in to the serene calm that enveloped him like a warm blanket.

Since childhood, music had always had a calming effect on him. With it he could fly to the stars and back; with each melodious note, he was swept away imagining a future promised to them since the dawn of time. It was the tool that allowed him to concentrate; and at the moment, he needed it more than ever. The incompetency of others had weighed heavily on him to the point that he had been ready to explode.

He had spent the better part of his life devoted to fulfilling the prophecy of the Master's return. Countless lives and blood money had been sacrificed to ensure they would not fail this time. But despite finding the weakest link across the many possible covens, and removing enough power, they had not managed to breach the doors defences.

Amos stood and cricked his neck from side to side. The cracks from his weary bones could be heard through the classical music which had been turned up to full volume. He closed his eyes and arched his back. Too many hours hunched over the ancient text had taken its toll, and he was now stiff and sore.

"Nothing that the Master won't remedy," he murmured to himself as he returned to his task and leafed through the manuscript to locate the passage he had found earlier that day.

Amos Solomon, Brother Superior within the Order of Chaos, was confident that his youthful body would be one of the first gifts bestowed. After all, I will have succeeded where all others have failed.

He was humming as the third movement drew to a close when he noticed activity from the corner of his eye. He glanced up as an Initiate scurried into the room. The man almost tripped over his robes when he halted a short distance away and began to bow nervously. As the Initiate spoke, his eyes darted to his right every few moments. With each glance, his face lost more of its original pallor, which only resulted in him genuflecting more, making him look like a living bobblehead ghost.

Amos shook his head and rolled his eyes. So much for peace and quiet.

"Yes? What is it?" he snapped.

The Initiate made another series of haphazard bows, and his mouth moved rapidly as the words flew from his lips.

Amos glared at the new arrival. "What? I can't hear you, you incompetent dolt."

With reluctance, he pulled the earbuds from his ears and his beloved music halted.

The nervous man once again attempted to deliver his message. However, this time, instead of being drowned out by Mozart, Amos couldn't hear him above the screams from the other side of the room.

He turned towards the noise. Strapped to the table howling in agony and fear, was a man who had served as a trusted Second-Level Watcher. Unfortunately, he had failed in his duty, and they had stumbled in their mission.

Amos glanced at the body of the broken and bloodied man in disdain. He didn't tolerate failure in any shape or form. The man had one task and one task only. To supply the names of the witches in the Salem Crossroads Coven – in order of strength.

Nothing more; nothing less.

They had performed the ritual and had expected to already bask in the glory of their success. His anger at the realisation the information was inaccurate knew no bounds.

Before the watcher could flee from the punishment he so justly deserved, he had been secured to the stone slab table and given a paralysing agent, which, to Amos's further irritation, didn't extend to his head and lungs. As prescribed by the scriptures, Amos had used the ceremonial dagger to gouge the required amount of flesh from his body. Each bloodied lump of sinew and tissue, forcibly extracted, was positioned around the man's head.

With each new incision, a quiver of excitement rushed throughout Amos. The traitor's pain fuelled Amos's need to continue the torture a little more than required. However, he justified the thrill by reminding himself that it was all in aid of the Master's return.

Careful to make sure that each cut was not, in itself, life threatening he had continued with his holy mission. Once this was complete, in accordance with their law, three hundred and thirty-three incisions were made across his torso, legs and arms. With each slice though the man's flesh, Amos recited an ancient chant that would ensure the man's soul would never obtain peace.

Throughout the ordeal, the traitor bellowed full bore, begging for mercy. As expected, after a while he had begged for a quick death.

Not happy to stop there, and wanting to make sure he set an example for the remainder of the Order, Amos released a mischief of rats onto the body. Not meeting any resistance, the rodents immediately feasted on the exposed flesh, scurrying up and down the traitor's torso and legs like children in a candy store.

This only resulted in the man's wails escalating—if that was at all possible in his state.

For a long while after he had released the vermin, Amos stood and watched with fascination at their frenzied movements as they tore at the exposed flesh and devoured the man's blood as if it were fine wine.

At first, the physical thrill escalated. Every nerve ending was alive as it soaked in the scene. The traitor's pain, became his pleasure. This however, lasted only a short while. No longer interested in the rats, or the traitor, Amos had returned to his study of the parchment and his beloved music.

The Brother Superior had as much as he could take with the shrieking and let out an exasperated grunt as he reached over and grabbed a roll of duct tape. He tore off a strip and placed it over the man's mouth. Amos took a step back and sighed. The muffled sounds were more palatable than the racket that had started to make his teeth ache.

"Speak," he commanded, as he swung round to face the Initiate, who now looked as though he were about to throw up. "Why have you disturbed my peace?"

There was a momentary pause as the Initiate physically took a step back and blanched at the menacing tone. After regaining his composure, he bobbed as he bowed, and his voice came out in a distraught stutter. Not once did he make eye contact. "I beg your forgiveness Brother Superior, but the First Councillor is here. He has requested an audience with you."

"I'll be there in a minute," he said dismissively as he waved his arm in the air.

Once the Initiate scampered away, Amos made his way over to the lamp and turned it off. The manuscript was sacred and too much time under the burning lamp would damage it. He took a last look at the traitor and noticed less movement. A satisfied smile replaced his scowl.

Justice has been served.

Once he returned above ground, he quickly made his way towards the front of the manor. As Amos emerged into the great hall, he noticed the Initiate from before.

"Cage the rats once they are done," he commanded.

Not paying attention to the man's sudden green pallor, he continued his path. All thoughts now focused on what his First Councillor was here to tell him.

"I trust you have good news," Amos said as he entered his plush study a short time later.

As per custom, the heavily pockmarked man who had been staring out the window turned and bowed. "Your Grace—"

Amos brushed off the remainder of the greeting. There was a time and place for formalities and tradition. This wasn't it. "You took a risk coming here like that," he said as he waved his hands in a sweeping motion at his subordinate.

"It couldn't be helped. This was the first chance I've had, and I knew I couldn't trust anyone else to deliver the information."

This had his attention.

"Well," he snapped after nothing was forthcoming from Randall.

The man was one of his trusted Second Councillors and had worked his way up through the order since childhood. As with many of them, he was part of the latest generation of the order that had taken up the pledge to never stop until their Master returned.

Randall let out a sly smile. "I've found out why the ritual didn't work."

Amos's eyebrows shot up. Perhaps this day wasn't a complete disaster after all?

"It turns out the coven has been holding back. There are more witches than we have been lead to believe."

Amos's skin tingled with anticipation. This would mean that they still had a chance. The astrological charts and scriptures gave them until the next full moon before the ritual would not work for again another hundred years.

"Do you know who they are?" he asked.

Randall shook his head. "Not yet. But I'm working on it."

A thought struck Amos as he pondered the revelation. "How did you come into this information?"

Randal chuckled. "Right place; right time." He wandered over to the overstuffed leather couch and took a seat. "I walked in on a conversation between our good Sheriff and Mayor Kincaid."

"Are they aware you heard them?" Amos stopped short. "You haven't blown your cover have you?"

Randall shrugged. "Not a chance. They're too busy trying to keep the federal authorities away to protect the town's secrets, they don't bother questioning those closest to them."

Amos wasn't so sure. Deacon Kincaid had been around long enough to not be so easily fooled. "And what about this expert they have brought in? You were supposed to report back to me yesterday," he asked.

"It took me longer than expected to get the information without anyone looking over my shoulder."

"So what did you find?" asked Amos as he sat behind his antique desk.

Randall let out a deep breath and leaned back into the couch. "There's nothing much to tell. Dr. Wynter got her Masters from Berkley and was taken on as an associate professor. Then, in record time, was tenured. She's used by the F.B.I as an independent consultant for any of their bizarre religious or occult cases." He paused a moment before he continued speaking. "There's nothing to indicate she's aware of what's really going on."

Amos pursed his lips. "I don't like it," Amos said. "She could mean trouble."

Randal scratched the back of his neck and met his worried gaze. "The exact opposite. She's the reason the case is still contained within the district. They're waiting on her report before they decide whether to step in or not."

Amos contemplated the latest bit of information. This could put a dent in their plans. "If they get involved we may have a problem. Unlike the local authorities, that lot have the man power to make our lives difficult."

Randall leaned forward and grinned. "We had better make sure she takes as long as needed to investigate then."

"She's the least of our problems," Amos said as reached for the heavy inverted cross that hung around his neck. He caressed the small hook at the bottom and prayed for guidance. They had another chance, and he wasn't about to waste it

Amos narrowed his eyes, and his voice turned icy cold. "We have to get the names of the other witches. I don't care who we need to go through, or who you need to kill. I want those names."

Randall, clearly knowing he was being dismissed, stood and bowed. "By your command."

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📎A/N... Well, it looks like we know who's behind the killings.. and if Amos is anything to go by, they are not exactly the warm and forgiving type :-(

... and I wonder who this Randall is?? He knows too much... however for now, he's not aware of Keira's ability thank goodness.... however, who knows how long that will last..

.. now they know there are more witches.. the race will be on to see who can get to them first!!!

Don't forget to vote if you enjoyed this chapter. Every vote counts in my plan for world domination!!! ;-)

Next chapter will be out next weekend. 

Till then, take care and be safe.

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