Mark of the Witch Page 13

  “Help me see clearly. Help me know what’s right. If I failed that miserably in the past, how can I trust my own judgment now? What seems like an obvious sin in hindsight must have seemed like my duty at the time. It must have. Or I would never—” His chest heaved, throat tightening until it hurt. “I could never—God…how could I have killed her?”

  His knees bent—not habit this time but pure weakness—and he wound up resting on them, head still bowed against the cool glass while the rain pounded against the other side. He had never fully believed that this task was his calling. He had never believed he was destined to prevent a demon from crossing into the world and wreaking havoc on mankind. But now…now he was seeing things he couldn’t deny. He had been inextricably entwined in this curse, in this prophecy, in this madness, since the very beginning. He’d thought he was just picking up the story where the last Guardian of the Portal had left off. But instead he was continuing a story he himself had started centuries and centuries ago. The other Guardians Dom had told him about had been nothing but placeholders. Tools, used by God, to ensure he would inherit the information he needed to find her again. To make this right somehow.

  “Maybe Dom’s right,” he whispered. “Maybe by keeping her from helping the demon I might save her from this nightmare and make up for taking her life. That has to be it.”

  Then why did his theory feel so incomplete?

  He lifted his head, opened his eyes, and then jerked backward so fast he fell on his backside on the floor. Just beyond the glass a raven was sitting on a tree limb, hunched against the rain and glaring in at him. Its eyes were lifeless and cold, like black marbles, its feathers ruffled and beaded with water. It didn’t look away. It just stared.

  It wasn’t right. Wasn’t natural. Neither was the icy chill dancing down his spine. His breath stuttered out of him, and he saw puffs of steam as he shivered. With everything in him, he knew he was in the presence of evil.

  “Get thee behind me,” he whispered. Habit again. But it didn’t work.

  Forcing himself to his feet, he squared his shoulders and yanked the window upward. Then he leaned outside into the pouring rain, waving his arms at the thing. “Get away! Go on, get out of here. You’ve got no business here!”

  With a furious squawk and a flapping of huge wet wings, the bird took off. Tomas drew back inside the room and reached up to close the window. But as he grabbed hold of it, he glimpsed the lawn below.

  A fox, its mouth open as if panting, tongue lolling out, eyes fixed on him. Movement caught his eye, a furry white flash in the storm. A whitetail buck a few yards to the fox’s right, standing there staring up at him, angrily pawing at the earth, flicking his tail. Tomas forced himself to look away. To scan farther. A raccoon, a coyote, three pigeons, a woodchuck, a chipmunk. All scattered across the lawn, staring up at him in the moonlight with lifeless eyes. He stood straighter, chills racking his entire body.

  And then Dom’s voice boomed, “Thou art an offense unto me! In the name of Jesus Christ, be gone!”

  Tomas jerked his head around to see his friend standing in the bedroom doorway, then quickly back again. The animals were scattering into the trees. In seconds the lawn lay empty, raindrops pelleting the grass.

  “You should’ve done that yourself, Tomas.”

  Tomas turned again, stung by the disgust in Dom’s tone. The old man was looking at him as if waiting for something.

  As if he knew.

  “Why didn’t you?” Father Dom asked softly. “Are you worried that you’ve…lost favor with God?”

  Tomas averted his eyes, refusing to answer Dom’s subtle charge. He couldn’t answer to anyone but God Almighty. Not on this one. “Why would I worry about that?”

  Dom broke eye contact but seemed to be listening intently as he paced a few steps one way, then the other, rubbing his chin as he spoke. “Well, Indira, of course. Now that she’s got you believing you were lovers in another lifetime I—”

  “More important, that I killed her in that other lifetime,” Tomas interrupted.

  “Well, either way.” Father Dom nodded toward the window. “What do you think you saw out there tonight?”

  Tomas turned to gaze out into the pouring rain. “Animals. Animals everywhere, staring up at me. It was…unnatural. And cold. I could see my breath.” He frowned and blew into a cupped hand. “But I can’t now.”

  “It was him,” Dom said. “He Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken. He’s found you.”

  Tomas lifted his brows.

  “He knows there will be a witch who’s meant to help him, and a priest who’s sworn to stop her, in the vicinity of the Portal in the days before he can cross. That’s why he attacked the conference.”

  “I still don’t understand how he could have done that. He’s still on the other side. A spirit being, not a physical one.”

  Father Dom’s face softened. It always put him in a better mood when he was asked his opinion, and he was never humble about giving it. He sank onto a chair near the window. “He can’t do anything physical himself, of course. But he can influence some minds. Only the weakest of humans are vulnerable. The young, the mentally ill. But for a demon to exert influence over animals is easy. Common. He can see through their eyes, hear through their ears, for brief periods.” He nodded toward the lawn. “What you saw were his eyes and ears. He’s watching us through them. He’s found us, Tomas. None of us are safe on our own. Only God’s grace and protection are keeping him at bay right now.”

  Tomas shivered and gave serious thought to bringing the shotgun up to his room for the rest of the night. “But what about the conference?” he asked. “No animal planted that bomb.”

  “I just heard it on the television. They’ve picked up an escaped mental patient. This formerly docile inmate just up and walked out of the hospital. He stole a truck, drove straight to a hardware store for fertilizer, then to a gas station for diesel fuel, and from there—”

  “Straight to Cornell.”

  Father Dom nodded. “Weak mind.” He tapped his head.

  Tomas tended to think some of the mentally ill had more receptive minds than the supposedly sane people of the world. He believed it was more about wavelength than illness, frequency on the proverbial dial. They were simply more in tune with the spiritual realms than everyone else.

  But of course, that theory could be taken wrong, like some sort of blasphemy, so it was an opinion he seldom voiced.

  “Where was the witch when the animals appeared?” Dom asked.

  “In her room sleeping, as far as I know. But if you’re suggesting she was behind this, forget it. Indy wouldn’t know how to control the mind of a field mouse.” He smiled briefly as her face showed up in his mind’s eye, and then he frowned as her expression turned from teasing to afraid. “As a matter of fact, I think we shouldn’t even mention this to her. She’s scared enough as it is.”

  “I think it best we don’t tell Indy anything beyond what she needs to know,” Father Dom said. “She’s not on our side in this, Tomas. Not willingly. And you must not forget for one moment what she is.”

  Tomas looked away. Here we go again.

  “She’s a witch who made a pact with a demon over three thousand years ago, and who has lived lifetime after lifetime with only one goal—to keep that promise, fulfill that pact. She’s a powerful witch. She can seduce a man without laying a hand on him. They all can. And she’s already trying to seduce you. She’s homed in on your weakest point, your overly caring heart—made weaker, I might add, by your long denied libido.”

  Tomas averted his eyes.

  “Don’t be ashamed. Desire weakens every man. It’s a test of your faith, Tomas. It’s not supposed to be easy.”

  “My faith is fine, Father.” But it wasn’t. It hadn’t been in a long time.

  Dom shook his head as if he knew better. “She’s convinced you that you’ve wronged her, that you owe her, that you loved her once. For the love of God, be strong, Tomas. Remember it’s all an act
, a game. You’re nothing to her! Nothing, that is, but the enemy.” He rose from his chair and clapped a hand onto Tomas’s shoulder. “If it came down to you or the demon, she would think nothing of killing you, you know.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Tomas said.

  “Well, you’d better believe it. If you hope to succeed in your quest, you had better, by God, believe it.” He drew a deep breath, wheezing a little as he exhaled, and turned to go. “I’ll pray for you. For all of us.”

  But not for her, I’ll bet, Tomas thought. And he wondered again if he was on the right side in any of this, and doubted it more than ever. Oh, sure, the side of the demon was the wrong one. But was Dom really any better? Was there a third option no one had seen or even bothered to look for?

  * * *

  After Tomas left the room, I slipped out of bed and tiptoed to Rayne’s bedroom. After tapping softly on the door and getting no reply, I opened it slightly. “Rayne? You in there?”

  She wasn’t. But I heard her shower running, and I spotted her laptop on the nightstand. Precisely what I needed. I slipped inside and picked it up, scribbled a note promising to return it in a couple of hours, or sooner if she needed it, and thanked her for the loan.

  Then I took it back to my room. I emailed myself the photos I’d snapped from Father Dom’s journal, then accessed my email account from Rayne’s computer and opened them one by one.

  The first photo showed a drawing marked “Amulet.” It was a disk-shaped piece about two inches in diameter, with twin gemstones almost where eyes would be, if it were a face. It wasn’t a face, though. There was a tiny ring on the top with a chain through it.

  Frowning, I opened the next image.

  In order for He Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken to escape from the Underworld, he must have the amulet. The witch who served him long ago secreted something of his within it. We know not what. Only that, without it, he cannot escape.

  “But I don’t have any amulet,” I whispered. Maybe the priests had the wrong witch, after all.

  When the first witch is activated and her memories of that long ago lifetime are stirred anew, she will recall how to attain the amulet, which she herself hid in the astral plane. Only she can retrieve it. And once she has it, she will attempt to pass it on to the demon. She is bound to help him, by word and by vow, and nothing will stop her. Besides, stopping her would only keep him imprisoned until conditions are right for him to make another attempt. Instead, the priest in charge must allow—even encourage—her in her efforts. Bring her to the Portal. Assist her in remembering. Allow her to retrieve the amulet from the astral plane.

  As soon as she does, it must be destroyed, no matter the cost. If this is done, the demon will be doomed to remain in the Underworld for all eternity.

  The remaining pages were filled with things I already knew or rambling sermonettes in Father Dom’s shaky hand. I deleted all the images and returned to Rayne’s room. I peeked in and saw that she was sound asleep, so I just left the laptop on the floor inside her bedroom door and tiptoed back to my own room.

  I was beyond disillusioned. Tomas had lied to me. He’d told me that my destiny was to help him. But the truth was, I was supposed to help the demon.

  And what kind of a woman did that make me, anyway? What kind of witch had I been back in Babylon? Had I deserved to be pushed off that cliff?

  Hell, I didn’t know. I couldn’t sleep, though. I sat up in bed for a long time before I finally decided to make use of the gorgeous leather-bound journal Tomas had brought me, and then I wrote and wrote and wrote until my eyes were drooping and my vision swimming.

  * * *

  The sun rose hot and unforgiving, slanting in through my bedroom window and burning my eyes. I looked up from the journal, still open on my lap, with one hand at my forehead, like a military salute, and squinted against the light. It didn’t do any good, though, so I set the embossed journal on the nightstand beside me and slid out of bed to close the curtains. Then I looked back at my rumpled covers and the clock beside the bed. 9:15 a.m.

  “Dammit, how do I keep losing so many hours?”

  Someone tapped on my bedroom door, and then it opened. Tomas peeked in at the empty bed, and then at me. “Damn,” he said. “You look rough.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Oh, come on. Even rough, you’re beautiful, and I think you know it.”

  I almost gaped at the unexpected compliment. He seemed embarrassed by it, too. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Up all night,” I said. “But I guess that’s because I slept the day through yesterday.”

  “Probably.” He nodded at the journal. Lilies were cut into the leather, a dragonfly landing on one of them. “Writing?” he asked.

  “After a while.”

  “Anything you want to share—in the journal, I mean?”

  “Not with him.” I didn’t mean it to sound as nasty as it did, and I wished I could take it back, but it was too late.

  “And you think anything you say to me is going to go straight to Father Dom, is that it?”

  I met his gorgeous brown eyes. He had been on my side, or at least I’d thought he was. “Wouldn’t it?” I asked, watching his face.

  “No. If you want to talk confidentially, I promise I’ll keep it to myself.” He sat on the edge of my bed. “You can trust me, Indira.”

  Could I? I really did want to talk about some of the things from the dreams. More and more had come back to me as I’d been writing, almost as if the act itself was a form of hypnotic regression or some shit like that.

  Walking toward the bed, I picked up the journal and closed it, running my hand over its tooled leather cover. “It’s a beautiful book.”

  “Rayne thought I should have gone with a black one, with a pentacle cut-out. But I thought you’d prefer this one.”

  “You were right.” Did he know me that well so soon, or was it more? Or maybe it was just a lucky guess. My stomach growled out loud.

  “You’re starving,” he said. “Dom and Rayne have already eaten, but I waited for you, so I’m starved, too.”

  “You waited for me?”

  He nodded, averting his eyes.

  “Where are they now?” I asked. Behind him, beyond the still-open bedroom door, the house had an empty feeling to it that I was only just now noticing.

  “Rayne wanted to make a grocery run, and she somehow managed to talk Dom into going with her. I think she wanted to give us a break.”

  I smiled as my face got warm. “She’s an even better friend than I realized.”

  “So it’s just two of us for the next couple of hours. In a well-stocked kitchen, on an utterly gorgeous morning. I say we enjoy a big fat breakfast on the deck.”

  I waited for him to say more. He didn’t, so I did. “And talk about the demon?”

  “Not unless you want to.” He got up and started for the door. “So what’ll it be? Eggs? French toast? I make a mean French toast. Or another Belgian waffle?”

  “That was our first meal together,” I said. “Belgian waffles at IHOP.” Maybe it was a little wistful sounding. Because I was feeling wistful, and also twisted and conflicted and confused about the man. Maybe I’d loved him once. Maybe he’d killed me once. Maybe he was lying to me now. He was forbidden. Maybe a danger to me. And yet I wanted him so much it was like a knife in my belly.

  He stopped, hand on the doorknob, and looked over his shoulder at me. “I know you sense Dom’s…dislike of witches,” he said. “I don’t share it. I think you’re a terrific human being, Indy, and I did even when we were basically strangers.”

  I blinked. He was winning me over. “We’re not strangers anymore?”

  He shrugged. “You feel more like family now. I know Rayne feels the same way.”

  I closed my eyes, smiled easily. “Thanks, Tomas. That means a lot to me. You and Rayne… No, never mind. It’s none of my business.”

  He shrugged. “Go on and ask. I know you’re dying to.”

  �
��Okay, I will. I didn’t think you had any family. Why are your last names different? She’s never been married.”

  “Well, we’re not full brother and sister. We just have the same father. My mother committed suicide when I was ten, and hers OD’d. We both went into the system, not even knowing each other existed. Rayne wound up being raised by a halfway decent aunt on her mother’s side. I spent most of my childhood in an orphanage run by nuns. Until Father Dom took me in.”

  “And sent you to Cornell. How did he afford it?”

  He lowered his head. “I had a pretty sizeable scholarship.”

  Holy shit, he must be even more brilliant than I thought.

  “My plan was to attend a seminary after that, and I started, but Father Dom pulled me out early. Said it was urgent that he begin one-on-one training with me.”

  “And you went for that?” I asked, surprised.

  He nodded. “Father Dom was the closest thing I had to a father. I never knew my real one. So when he told me God had spoken to him, and that the Church had given him a special dispensation to ordain me himself immediately—well, what could I say? I was handpicked by God for this, Dom said. And you know, given what we’re learning about the past, I’m starting to believe it.”

  I was mesmerized, soaking up every revelation about Tomas as if I were starving for information. In my mind’s eye I could see him as a child, and then as a young man. And now. I could definitely see him as he was now.

  “When did you find each other?” I asked.

  “One of the sisters in the orphanage sent me a letter right after I was ordained. She said she’d held on to the secret as long as she could and thought I had a right to know. She sent Rayne a copy, too. I have no idea how that nun knew, and she died before I had a chance to ask her, but she’d known about us all along. She thought she was doing us a favor not to tell us when we were still too young to do anything about it. Rayne’s aunt didn’t want any more kids, and we lived on opposite sides of the country. So knowing just would have made things harder, she thought.”