Mark of the Witch (20 page)

The telephone rang as Tomas searched his soul for a deeper
understanding, because there was something…off…and yet familiar about the words,
something that was like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. But the ringing
cut off his contemplation, and he vowed to ponder this more later as he picked
up the cordless receiver and walked to the far side of the room.

“How is she this morning?” Jonathon asked without preamble.

“She slept like the dead, straight through the night. I think
she’s awake now. My sister’s upstairs with her, took her some breakfast.”

“The…injuries?”

Tomas sighed, unsure how much to reveal and deciding secrecy
was probably useless at this point. Father Dom was already ranting about Jon
having seen too much, but there wasn’t much to be done about that now. “The cuts
are gone. Healed as if they’d never been there. But it took a toll on her, all
the same.” He felt Dom’s eyes on him as he spoke and looked up to see him walk
over and hit the speaker button on the phone base.

Tomas wanted to roll his eyes, and the thought moved through
his mind that apparently God trusted him more than Dom did. Still, it wasn’t
worth an argument. He set the receiver down and continued the conversation. “Do
you have anything for me, Jon? Are the marks writing, like I thought?”

“They are. Akkadian,” Jon said. “It’s in two parts. Something
like an incantation on her left arm, and something more involved on the right
arm and back. An account, a history. The first line—which I’m interpreting as a
sort of title—is The Truth I Must Remember.”

Dom looked at Tomas sharply, his attention caught.

Jon went on. “I’m working on the full translation now. I’ve got
to tell you, Tomas, it’s wild stuff. Harem slaves being sacrificed to a sun god.
The murder of a king. A high priest with questionable motives.”

“Really? Questionable how?”

“Can’t say yet—it’s only hinted at. But I’ll be done by this
afternoon.”

“We’ll come over,” Tomas said. “What time do you want us
there?”

“Three work for you? I should have it finished by one, but I
have meetings in between—”

“We’ll be there at three, then.”

“We’ll be where at three?”

Indy’s voice, coming from the living room, sent shivers of
desire flaring through Tomas’s body to settle in his groin. He was almost hard
just at the sound of her innocent question.

Maybe Dom was right and this
was
some kind of spell.

Turning, he allowed himself the absolute pleasure of looking at
her, which only made him want her even more. She looked worn-out. There were
circles under her eyes, and her hair resembled the feathers of an agitated
rooster. She was hugging her terry bathrobe around her, had silly fuzzy slippers
on her feet, and was clutching a coffee mug in her hands as if it were a life
raft in the middle of an empty ocean. And she was the most beautiful thing he’d
ever seen.

Her eyes devoured him in return, and he wondered if the mutual
lust fest they had going was as obvious as it felt like it was. He tried to
paste a casual smile on his face to cover up the longing that had to be visible
in his eyes.

Dom reached past him and picked up the telephone receiver,
speaking softly to Jon before hanging up.

And even though he was aware of the old man’s movements, he was
entirely focused on Indy.

“Where are we going at three?” she asked again.

“Cornell,” he said, finally managing to master the art of
speech. It was worse today, this feeling. He’d dreamed of making love to her
last night. Only it had been more like a memory. Not their bodies, not their
clothing. Outdoors in what felt like a desert oasis hidden among the dunes,
bathed in moonlight. Now that he’d remembered being with her once, loving her
once, it was as if a floodgate of feeling had broken wide open. “Jon’s
translating the symbols from those cuts. Says there’s a history having to do
with—with what you’ve been remembering written on one arm and your back. And
that there’s an incantation on the other arm.”

Her eyes widened. “An incantation? Do you think....do you think
it might be the key to me figuring out how to get hold of that ever elusive
amulet?”

“I’m hoping that’s what it is.”

“And the history?”

“It was titled The Truth I Must Remember.”

She nodded slowly. “My sister—at least I think it’s my
sister—keeps telling me to remember. Screaming it at me. I wonder if—”

“We’ll soon find out.”

She lowered her head with a sigh. “God, maybe we’re actually
getting closer to the end of this…this nightmare.”

“Maybe.”

“We’ll all go,” Father Dom said. “This afternoon. We’ll all go
together. Find out exactly what that writing was about.” He looked worried as
his eyes darted from one of them to the other, but they lingered longest on
Tomas.

Tomas’s gut was telling him to leave Dom and Rayne behind, but
he knew what that would look like to the old priest. And besides, having them
along would provide a buffer. Maybe keep him from falling prey to his own
weakness where Indy was concerned. He needed to keep his head clear, be
objective.

Indy was looking at him, silently begging him to tell Father
Dom no. To make the old man stay behind. Additional evidence that he probably
ought to do the opposite. Being alone with her was not a good idea, not even on
a busy university campus. “All right,” he said, with a nod at Father Dom. “We’ll
all go.”

“Good. Good. Now, in the meantime, I have somewhere I need to
be, things I need to do that I’ve been seriously neglecting.”

Tomas saw Indy and Rayne frown, but he was the one who asked,
“Dom, what are you talking about?”

“Well, the reason I came here to begin with, of course. The
Interfaith Conference.”

“Is that still going on?” Indy asked. “I would’ve thought,
after the bombing—”

“Of course the conference itself has been cancelled. But a lot
of the clerics stayed in town. Some are still hospitalized, but others have
arranged a memorial service for those who died. It’s…it’s by invitation only. I
really should be there, Tomas.”

“Of course you should,” he said softly. “Where’s it being
held?”

“Sage Chapel.” He picked up a sweater he’d left lying on the
small sofa. “Don’t worry. I’ll be finished in plenty of time for our meeting
with Professor Yates.”

“Good,” Tomas said. But he didn’t mean it.

And he felt guilty as hell for the surge of relief that washed
over him as Father Dom went out the front door, got into his oversize bronze
Buick and roared away.

13

A
s tired and as drained as I was, I was
almost giddy at the prospect of having Tomas and Rayne to myself for the next
few hours, without the glowering, buzz-killing presence of Father Dom dragging
us all down. And you know, even though he didn’t say it out loud, I thought
Tomas felt that way, too. He seemed to grow lighter the second the old goat’s
car growled out of earshot.

Okay, there was a minute or two where I sort of wished Rayne
would find somewhere else she had to be, as well. But I bounced myself right
back from that. Because when we were alone together, there was too much between
Tomas and me. It was intense and deep and emotional, and yes, sexy, too. But
neither one of us was ready to take this thing any further. And having Rayne
with us would keep things from going down that road.

We needed a break.

I clapped my hands together and glanced at the clock. “So? Am I
the only one who feels like a kid at recess all of a sudden?”

Rayne smiled. Tomas averted his eyes, but I saw the glint of
agreement in them first.

“Okay, well, I’ve had an exquisite breakfast already—thank you
for that, Tomas. I could eat your French toast every day for the rest of my life
and be happy.”

He looked at me with a smile that was pure impulse, completely
honest. “I’m really glad you enjoyed it. Are you okay, Indy?”

“Of course I’m okay. But I need to take a shower and throw on
some clothes. And then I think we ought to…try to have some fun today. Just for
a couple of hours, while Dom’s gone. Maybe get our minds off all this demonic,
life-and-death, end-of-the-world stuff and just do something…stupid fun.”

“I am so with you on that,” Rayne said, smiling. “Go ahead,
take your shower. My brother and I will come up with a plan while you do.”

“Okay.” I met Tomas’s eyes. “Make it a good one. Nothing heavy,
nothing dark.”

He sent me a salute, and I thought he looked as relieved as I
felt. “I promise.”

And then there was that long tugging process I had to go
through every single time I wanted to tear my eyes away from his. But I managed
it and headed up the stairs.

As soon as I reached my room I kicked the door closed behind me
and went straight to the bathroom, cranked on the taps and shed the heavy
bathrobe. I was still tired. Worn down. But better than earlier. And as I stood
under the pounding, hot spray, one arm braced against the tiled wall, head down,
I felt the heat easing some of the aches from my body, relaxing some of the
knotted-up muscles, soothing the tension from my nerves. I felt the headache
easing.

I wonder what that translation has to say?
I wonder if this is going to be it? The way to get the amulet.

Stop thinking about that! You need an easy
day for a change, dumb-ass, or you’re headed straight for a
breakdown.

Tomas, I thought. Tomas, Tomas, Tomas. His
mouth on mine, his arms around me, his body pressed up against me.
The feelings of love came rushing through me.

Through me.

Huh. Interesting that I was feeling them as if they were my own
emotions. Not leftovers from some past self clouding up my heart, but real, now,
sorts of feelings. Maybe. Maybe these feelings
were
real. My own.

Of course, that didn’t solve the problem of his priesthood.

Will you get your mind off problems, just
for this morning?

I lathered up, rinsed down, washed my hair and called it good.
This was not the day for a long, lingering shower, no matter how good it would
feel on my poor battered bod. Today I wanted to spend every minute I could with
Tomas, and with Rayne, too. It was going to be a mental health day, and damn,
did I need it.

I opened the shower door and stepped out into the steam-filled
bathroom, tugging a towel off the rack and wrapping it around me, under my arms,
tucking it in front to keep it in place. I padded over to the little sink and
cranked on the faucet, reaching for my toothbrush with one hand, then giving the
steamy mirror a palm-swipe with the other.

She stood behind me in the mirror, black hair waving like every
strand was a living thing. Black eyes. Beautiful. She looked at me in that
mirror, and I stared back, absolutely transfixed, inwardly cringing in case she
started up with the slashing again and hoping to the Goddess that she
wouldn’t.

He’s a dangerous man.

I blinked. “Who?” I wanted with everything in me to turn around
and face her, but it felt as if something was literally holding me still, right
where I was.

The priest.

“Which—”

You are very close now. Very
close.

“And you’re a pain in the ass. Why don’t you just carve me up
in English next time and save us all the hassle?”

I am not the one cutting you,
Indira.

“Then who the hell is?”

You are. Your past self, your higher self,
knows. You must remember.

Oh, well, that was an interesting piece of bullshit, wasn’t
it?

“How about you just leave me the fuck alone today, Lilia? How
about I get a few hours of peace from you and all your crap today?”

You must not give the amulet to the
priest.

“All right, let me put it this way. Either leave me alone for
the next few hours or I’m walking. I’ll leave. I’ll go right back to my
apartment and my job and my life, and if the world ends because of it, too
fucking bad. How’s that sound to you?”

Do not give the amulet to the priest.
Return it to the one to whom it belongs.

I closed my eyes, clenched my fists and literally tore my body
free of her hold, forcing myself to turn around. When her grip on me broke, it
broke fast, and I whirled so suddenly I almost tipped over. Without opening my
eyes I flung out my hand and drew the shape of a Banishing Pentagram in the air
before me. “Be gone!” Then I pushed with my open palm, and the door crashed open
as if I’d kicked it.

I opened my eyes, blinking in surprise.

There was no one there. I’d blasted the bathroom door wide open
without touching it. I looked at my hands, and I smiled a little.

I did it.

I was still shaking like a leaf, half expecting the slashes to
start striping themselves across my back again.

Not gonna happen. I banished her ass.
Maybe I should’ve been embracing my inner witch all along.

I told myself that I felt just a little bit more in control,
and that it was not as big a freaking lie as it felt like, and then I brushed my
teeth.

* * *

“She’s going to end up in the hospital if this keeps up,
you know.” Rayne was digging through the giant closet as she spoke, though
digging for what she hadn’t yet said.

It was a big closet, with boxes stacked behind the hanging
rods, and shelves overhead. She’d stored various things there over the years
since he’d bought this place, stuff she dug out whenever she came to visit.

“I noticed how weak she seemed this morning,” Tomas said.

“Pale, too,” Rayne said. “And did you get a load of the dark
circles under her eyes?”

“Yeah.”

She poked her head out of the closet, stabbing him with her
eyes. “If this keeps up it’s going to kill her, Tomas.”

“You think it’s that serious?”

“You trust my instincts?”

He nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Where she’s concerned anyway,” Rayne finished for him, diving
back into her excavation project. “I wish you’d listen to me about Father
Dom.”

“You’ve never liked him.”

“There’s something very wrong with that man, Tomas. Something
very wrong about this whole secret one-man-per-generation subsect of the Church
devoted to fighting a demon that no one is even supposed to know about.”

He sighed, glad he wasn’t looking her in the eyes. “You can’t
deny it’s real. Not anymore, not with all we’ve seen.”

“Something’s happening. But you can’t be sure Dom’s
interpretation is the only one, much less the right one. The guy’s seriously
warped, Tomas. I mean, have you ever even talked to anyone else in the Church
about this?”

“You know I haven’t. I wouldn’t know who to talk to. Dom says
very few people even know we exist.” He’d always taken Father Dom’s secret
mission with a grain of salt, until he’d seen proof of the existence of demons
at that little girl’s exorcism. But frankly, now that he’d met Indy, he was
having more doubts than ever before about what was right and what was wrong, and
even what was real.

Again Rayne popped her head out of the closet. “Aren’t you even
curious about what the hell a bigot like Father Dom is doing at an interfaith
memorial service?”

“I was hoping his interest in the conference was a sign that
his mind was starting to open a little more,” he confessed.

“His interest in the conference was a sign that he needed an
excuse to come out here and make sure you did what he thought you should do
about Indy and the so-called demon.”

“Now you don’t think it’s a demon?”

“Indy saw it. She didn’t think it was a demon.” Rayne emerged
fully from the closet, holding his old acoustic guitar. “The word of a fellow
witch is plenty for me to go by.”

“She keeps telling me she’s not a witch anymore.” He tried to
ignore the way his fingers were itching to get hold of that guitar. He’d packed
it away almost a year ago, when Father Dom had told him that such pursuits were
wasteful, frivolous and displeasing to God. He hadn’t agreed. But he
had
obeyed. What the hell had he been thinking?

“Once a witch, always a witch. I’m going to initiate her. If
she’ll let me.”

He raised his brows, attention distracted from the guitar.
“Really?”

She nodded. “Granted, she’s never been formally Dedicated to a
coven, nor done the required year and a day of dedicant-level lessons and
practice. But I think her life experience is more than she would have gained
from any of that. And really, the initiations are given by the gods. We just
observe them through ritual. And what is all this, if not an initiation? A death
and rebirth for her?”

“Death and rebirth. That’s what initiation is to you?”

“It’s what it is, period.” She handed him the guitar. “In my
opinion, brother, you’re going through one of your own. The second-degree
initiation is a symbolic descent into the Underworld. A dark night of the
soul.”

Taking the guitar from her, he looked at it instead of his
sister’s eyes. How had his life gotten so far off track? How had he fallen in
with what seemed more and more clearly to be Father Dom’s private obsession?

“I think you’ll get through it, though,” she went on. “Anyone
can get through anything, as long as they know the one sacred truth. The one
thing that underlies everything in creation.”

“And what’s that?” he asked.

“That love isn’t just the most important thing, it’s the
only
thing. The only real thing. Everything else is
made up. So when all the extraneous stuff confuses you, just take a step back
and focus on love. It’s all you have to do. It’s always the right answer.”

He had a brief flash of Father Dom saying much the same thing,
only in his version the word
love
was replaced by
the word
faith.

Was that what this was? A choice he had to make between love
and faith?

Just like Abraham,
Father Dom
whispered in his mind.

“Tune that baby up,” Rayne told him, nodding at the guitar.
“I’m gonna build a little campfire outside, even though it’s still daylight, and
then scour the cupboards for marshmallows.”

* * *

I had no idea that Tomas could play guitar. He knew all
the songs that people these days considered campfire classics. John Denver and
the Eagles, even John Prine and Kris Kristofferson. I knew them all, too,
because we had satellite radio at Pink Petals, and we listened to a lot of
Americana and country and seventies hits. So I sang along a little. Mostly
off-key.

Rayne sang, too, like a freaking songbird. She could really
carry a tune. And every now and then Tomas would jump in with a little deep
harmony, and I just sat there in utter bliss. The smells of burning firewood, of
smoke, and underneath them the autumn leaves decomposing on the ground, were
like brushstrokes of sensory color, painted on the air. The music, his voice,
and hers, too, punctuated by the snapping and crackling of the campfire,
surrounded me like an embrace. And the sun filtering through the trees, dappling
the ground beneath a baby-blue sky, made my eyes water in joy.

When I was practicing witchcraft regularly and casting spells
to summon the man of my dreams, my soul mate, I’d done an exercise where I
described him as if I were standing there looking at him, even though I wasn’t.
The things I had written about him then came rushing back to me now.

He is handsome, with a smile that is never
fake. It’s genuine, coming right from his heart.

He has brown eyes that can melt me like a
chocolate bar in the hot sun.

He’s deeply spiritual—he believes in
magic.

He doesn’t care about flashy cars or
money.

He’s happiest in the country, where I want
to live once my life gets started.

I guess I’d kind of been thinking his arrival would be the
starter’s pistol for that. My life. I’d been crouching on my mark, getting set,
for three years, waiting for that gunshot. It hadn’t come.

He plays guitar.

No shit. I’d actually written that. In my vision of my soul
mate, he always played guitar. I don’t know why. I used to see it just as plain
as…as I was seeing it right now. Except his face was always a little blurred.
But everything else was clear: a man in black, strumming a guitar by a campfire
in the country.