Mark of the Witch Read online

That shut me up.

  Rayne pursed her lips in thought. I was silent, trying to feel the breeze on my face and not the throbbing in my head. “Look,” she said at length, “I used to think his beliefs were way out there, even farther than my own.” She took slow steps, gazing out at the natural beauty all around us. “But then, when those things started happening to you, the dreams, the flashbacks, suddenly knowing how to hurl telekinetic energy like a pro and how to speak whatever the hell language you were speaking—I mean the marks alone—”

  I held up a hand to stop her. “I know.” Because even I couldn’t deny the marks in my skin. Everything else could be…hallucination, insanity, delusion. But not those marks. Because I wasn’t the only one who’d seen them. And there were pictures, for crying out loud.

  “You needed help, Indy. And I knew in my gut that Tomas was the only one who could give it to you.”

  I nodded. “You still could’ve told me.”

  She met my eyes and shrugged. “But I came. Isn’t that worth something?”

  I held her gaze and felt myself soften. “Your big-shot law firm give you a sick day?”

  “I took my vacation time. A full two weeks of it. By then Samhain will be a distant memory and this will be over, one way or the other.”

  “You won’t need the full two weeks.”

  “I figured I might want some time to recover. Goddess knows what a wild ride we’re in for.”

  “Mmm-hmm, I’ve been getting that feeling myself.” I drew a deep breath, and then got lost in the taste of it. Fresh clean air, flavored with the scent of decaying leaves and lake water and morning mist. It was good here—at the moment.

  “I’m on your side, even though he is my brother. I’m still a witch, a high priestess. I take my oath to the Goddess and to my sister witches very seriously, Indy.”

  I wanted to believe her and decided to put it to the test. “Okay, then, do something for me.”

  “Anything.”

  I nodded toward the den where the two men had disappeared. “Tell them I wasn’t feeling well and decided to take a long hot shower. And don’t let them up those stairs.”

  She frowned at me, tipping her head to one side. “What are you—”

  “No questions. You want me to trust you and your brother, how about trusting me in return?”

  Slowly she nodded. “All right, I’ll do it.”

  “Promise?” I asked.

  She made a backward peace sign and pressed her fingertips to either side of her nose. “Witch’s honor.”

  I smiled. It was genuine, and it felt good. “Thanks.”

  Then I turned and ran up the stairs to the deck and hurried inside.

  Quickly, I darted into “my” room, through it to the bathroom, cranked on the shower taps and closed the shower stall door. I went back into the bedroom, shutting the bathroom door behind me. I grabbed my BlackBerry from my bag, and then, pausing in the doorway, I looked up and down the hallway, and checked the stairs. No one in sight.

  I was shaking a little, which was stupid. What would they do if they caught me? Baptize me to death? I darted down the hall. The door to the guest room closest to mine was open, and I could see it was empty. The other guest room’s door stood closed. That must be where Father Dom was staying.

  My hand was trembling as I twisted the knob, praying he hadn’t slipped upstairs in the seconds I’d been in my own room. Bracing myself, mentally rehearsing one lame explanation after another, I pushed it open. No one there. His bags weren’t in sight. But the journal was. Right there on the nightstand.

  The man had underestimated me. Of course, the minute he realized I’d slipped upstairs alone, he would probably become painfully aware of his mistake.

  Quickly I flipped the journal open, whipping out my BlackBerry like a gunfighter drawing his six-shooter. I scrolled to the photo app and began snapping pics. Snap, snap, flip the page. And again, then flip, and again and again.

  I tried to resist the urge to look behind me, because that would take more time than I had. Five pages done. Then ten. And then—

  A text message came in. Nothing but an exclamation point, but since it was from Rayne, I knew what it meant.

  I closed the book, pocketed the phone and was back into the hallway in two lunges. It nearly killed me to pull the door closed slowly, so it wouldn’t bang, but I did it. Two more long strides and I was ducking into my own room, even as someone was coming up the stairs. I peeked out the door as Father Dom’s head came into view. I closed my door, dove for the bathroom, closed that door and locked it.

  And then I stood there for a long minute, holding my phone to my chest while my heart pounded.

  Damn, I thought. You’re pretty good at this. I pulled the photos up and sat down to take a look. But they were too small for me to make out the words, much less the diagrams and other drawings. I needed to get them onto a computer. Okay, good. Later.

  I quickly went to the settings for my phone and set up password protection. I’d have to keep it with me at all times until it was safe to delete the photos. And I needed a damned computer and an hour of privacy.

  But right now I needed to take that long hot shower or I’d give myself away. Not that I needed the excuse. A hot shower would go a long way toward soothing my headache. At least I hoped it would.

  * * *

  I took my time about it, and forty minutes later, give or take, I was feeling greatly refreshed. I was decked out in brown leggings, a long green sweater dress and a wide brown belt. My hair was dry and, since I’d moussed and scrunched it, excessively curly. I chose a pair of tall, sexy suede boots and poured all my stuff into the bag that matched them. I did my makeup to perfection, looked as good as I ever had, and turned to give myself one final glance in the mirror.

  She was there, standing right behind me, and I instinctively spun, raising my arms defensively.

  Nothing. No one. Still, I kept my arms crossed in front of me as I glanced warily at the mirror again.

  She was there. But I wasn’t.

  She was my reflection and, I realized, not Lilia, the same dark-haired, dark-eyed woman who’d hacked me to bits in the IHOP restroom. Nor was she the other woman who’d stood beside me on the cliff, Magdalena. So that meant she had to be…

  I lifted my hand and watched the mirror image lift hers.

  I leaned closer, and she did, too. I stared into her eyes, and she stared back into mine. She had taken over my reflection, this raven-haired, copper-skinned beauty. She was even wearing my clothes.

  “Don’t trust the priest,” she said. And I realized my lips were moving, as if I was the reflection of her. My mouth formed the words, but I wasn’t speaking them aloud. I was hearing them inside my head. “He has to kill you. He has no choice. Just like before.”

  Then the image wavered like water rippling, and I was me again. She was gone. I was still standing there, my stomach queasy—not in a sick way, but in a way that only happens when you see something you know is impossible. It’s a shock to the system, and it rocks you right to your core. It was impossible for my reflection to turn into some alleged past version of myself and talk to me.

  It was also impossible to believe what she had said. Tomas would never… Unless she was talking about Father Dom? That man gave me the creeps.

  But could he really be that dangerous? He was an old man, and a priest, for crying out—

  A sound stopped my thoughts dead—a blast, an explosion, and close enough that it rocked the house. I gripped the sink when the floor shook, then quickly turned to look out the window. A cloud of thick black smoke was ballooning in the distance over the city of Ithaca.

  “Oh, my God.” I raced out of my room, down the stairs and through the house onto the deck, where the others were already gathered. They were shielding their eyes from the morning sun as they tried to pinpoint the spot, which was on a hillside kitty-corner to our own, around the curving tip of the lake.

  “It’s near Cornell,” Tomas said. “I think it�
�s—”

  “It is Cornell,” Father Dom said. He was bent over and wheezing, hands on his thighs. He must have run outside at the sound and was still out of breath. He looked at Tomas, and his eyes seemed to swim with moisture. “The conference. Jesus have mercy, it’s the conference.”

  8

  Tomas had thought he was prepared, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when the four of them got to the university. The Statler was a working hotel and conference center where students got hands-on experience in running the business and planning events. There had been some five hundred clerics, representing over a hundred religions and denominations, gathered there for a forward-thinking, open-minded exchange.

  Now there was rubble.

  Rescue vehicles and police cars blocked access to that section of campus. Clouds of smoke and dust darkened the air, and if you looked hard enough, you could glimpse the walking wounded as they stumbled away from the blast in search of help. People with sooty faces and stand-up hair, torn clothes and broken bones, helping one another or alone, staggering out of the cloud toward the flashing lights that signaled help had arrived. Others, including students and faculty, stood around the perimeter, weeping, shouting, shaking their heads, pointing.

  And Tomas still wanted to doubt what had so clearly happened.

  “It was him,” Father Dom said in a low tone. “It was the demon.”

  Tomas looked at the old man, momentarily rocked by the pure hatred he saw on his face. “We don’t know that for sure. Maybe it was a gas line explosion or…something.”

  Father Dom’s fury-filled eyes shifted to Tomas’s, but only briefly. He quickly looked around, noting, as Tomas had, that Rayne and Indy were a few yards away, deep in conversation with another woman. He kept his voice low. “What other conclusion can we draw? The demon knows where the Portal is located. He’s far ahead of us on that. He knows there’s a witch here to help him,” he said with a quick glance at Indy and Rayne. “Along with a priest who will try to stop her. And with so many faiths—including Gnostic and Wiccan—represented at this conference, all together near the Portal…naturally he attacked here first. Who else would have motive?”

  “He wouldn’t risk destroying the witch. Without her, he can’t get his hands on the amulet, and without the amulet, he can’t escape the Underworld.”

  Father Dom reached up and tucked the white tab of Tomas’s priestly collar out of sight. “I’m right. You mark me, son, I’m right. It was him. No priest is safe here until this is over. Best not to advertise our presence too loudly.” He tucked his own collar out of sight in the same way.

  Tomas felt a chill run right up his spine. “Come on, Dom. The demon would sense us by our aura more than by our clothing.”

  “Maybe. But there’s nothing we can do to disguise our auras, now, is there?”

  “Actually, there is,” Indy said from behind them.

  Both men turned to look at her. Tomas saw the devastation in her eyes, the trauma of what they were all witnessing, and moved closer to her, instinct urging him to offer comfort, to keep her close. To keep her safe.

  Which instinct, though? That of a priest, or that of a man?

  “Even a lapsed solitary witch knows about shielding.”

  “Invisibility spell,” Rayne said with a nod. “We could teach you.”

  “I think we’ll pass on taking lessons in the black arts,” Father Dom said before Tomas could answer. “Who was that you were talking with?”

  “A high priestess,” Rayne said. “She was here for the conference.”

  Dom’s eyebrows went up. “She wasn’t injured?”

  “No. She and the other Pagan leaders had a breakfast gathering downtown.”

  Dom looked at Tomas. “So no witches were harmed in the explosion.”

  “She thought they were all at the meeting. Of course, she’s not sure. No one is,” Indy said.

  “I am,” Father Dom muttered, shooting Tomas an I-told-you-so look.

  “God, who could have done this?” Indy stared at the rubble, shaking her head slowly.

  “The demon did it.” Father Dom’s tone was as certain as his words.

  Indy sucked in a gasp, and her wide eyes shot to Tomas.

  “It looks likely,” he said. His instincts continued to push him toward her. She looked so frightened, so shaken, that he wanted to put his arms around her, remind her that he was going to keep her safe. The urge was almost irresistible, and it felt…old. As if he’d done it many times before.

  Before he could decide whether to obey it, Rayne did it for him. She moved closer to Indy, put an arm around her shoulders and told Tomas with her eyes that she’d seen his inner struggle. “We should get out of here,” she said. “There’s nothing we can do, and—”

  Her words were interrupted by a voice from the crowd.

  “Tomas?” someone said. “Tomas Petrosa, is that you?”

  He lifted his head, scanning the onlookers, recognizing the voice and spotting Professor Jonathon Yates, a friend from long ago, making his way toward them.

  “By God, it is you,” Jonathon said when he reached Tomas and the others. His straw-yellow comb-over was thinner and grayer than Tomas remembered, but his eyeglasses were exactly the same, soda-bottle-thick with black plastic frames. He gripped Tomas’s hand and pumped hard. “Good to see you again.”

  “Good to see you, too, Jon, though I wish it were under any other circumstances,” Tomas said softly.

  “You people need to get back,” a firefighter called from a dozen feet away. “Everyone back off at least a hundred feet. Let’s go. Move it!”

  “Come with me,” Jon said. “There’s nothing we can do here. Other than pray.” He included Tomas’s entourage with his eyes, and then turned and led the way across the lawns to the glorious red stone Sage Chapel, which wasn’t far from the devastation and yet remained miraculously undamaged. Its arched stained-glass windows and the statue of Jesus above the front door were untouched. And as they entered through the tall wooden doors, Tomas felt the same awe he had always felt when he stepped inside this building.

  He’d seen a lot of churches, a lot of cathedrals, all over the world. But in his heart, this one held its own and then some in comparison. Vaulted ceilings, the inverted ship-rib design of churches of old, the sheer magnitude of the place, took his breath away. It was holy here, regardless of one’s belief system. And that was, he thought, the very point.

  It was a place of power. And he felt safe within its walls.

  “Sit, sit,” Jon said, as they slid into the pews, Father Dom sliding in beside him and Jon, while Indy and Rayne took seats in the row just ahead. He glanced at Indy, then got stuck staring at her face. She was looking around, taking in the chapel he’d always considered one of the most beautiful ever built, and her eyes showed appreciation, admiration, maybe even awe.

  “Tomas? Are you listening?” Jon asked.

  He jerked his gaze away, focusing again on his friend, but not before noting the stern look of disapproval on his mentor’s face. “I’m sorry. This is just so awful.”

  “Especially given what your friend Jon just told us,” Father Dom put in. “He overheard one of the officers saying something about a bomb.”

  “A bomb?”

  Tomas shot a look at Indy, who looked as shocked as he did. She’d missed hearing that, too, lost in the beauty of the chapel, while he’d been lost in the beauty of her.

  “Of course they won’t release that information anytime soon,” Jon was saying. “But yes, a bomb. Were you two at the conference?” he asked suddenly. “Is that why you’re here?”

  “No,” Tomas assured him. “Dom was planning to attend later, but we were at my place, above the lake. You remember.”

  “Of course.” Jon looked at the women, then back at Tomas, reminding him that he had yet to introduce anyone.

  “I’m sorry. Jonathon, meet my friend Indira Simon and my sister Rayne Blackwood. And this is Father Dominick.”

&nbs
p; “Sister?” Jon shot a surprised look at Rayne, then back again.

  No wonder. When Jon had known him, Tomas had no family. Only Father Dom. “We found each other only a few years ago,” he said, then quickly changed the subject. “Everyone, Jon is a professor here at Cornell. Ancient linguistics.”

  “Oh, you’re the one,” Indy said with a nod. “Tomas, he could look at that video and maybe see what’s—”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  She met his eyes, and he felt a connection, a knowing, as if they were on the same page, finishing each other’s thoughts like a couple with twenty years behind them.

  “What video?” Jon asked, breaking the moment.

  Tomas sighed. “Since there’s really nothing we can do here…do you have a few minutes and a computer we can use?”

  “Yes, of course. My office is across campus, though. Are you up for a walk?”

  Others were filing into the chapel by then, many of them kneeling to pray, others weeping.

  “I’d be glad to get away, to tell you the truth,” Indy said. “There’s so much death here.”

  “I feel it, too,” Rayne said softly.

  As the five of them left the chapel, Tomas looked back toward the rubble, and saw body bags lying along the pavement. He lowered his head and whispered a silent prayer, wafting a blessing toward those souls.

  When he looked up, he noted that his sister was doing exactly the same, in her own way.

  Indy looked from one of them to the other. “They’re dead,” she said. “Or buried alive awaiting help. Only the rescue workers can help them now.” Her tone was almost challenging.

  She almost stomped as she walked away, following Jon, who was obliviously leading them to his office. Rayne lunged after her, but Tomas caught her by the wrist. “Let her be. She’s making a last-ditch effort to retain her skepticism right now. The alternative means that what’s happening to her is real, and she’s just not ready to handle that yet.”

  “She’d better get ready soon. If Father Dom is right and the demon is responsible for this, then he’s more dangerous than I knew.”