Sin's Dark Caress (17 page)

32

A Prayer for the Living

T
he deep purple velvet coat was the closest thing to formal funeral wear, though probably not the best choice, given the warm day. Bianca took a deep breath and looked at McManus. “You ready for this?”

Without looking at her directly, he offered his elbow. They stepped through the front gate of the Hilden estate and joined the throng of guests dressed in similar shades of deep purple, the mourning color for witches.

News vans from all over the world blocked the streets along the estate perimeter. A death in the family of one of New York's most prominent families would've been newsworthy at the best of times, but to have such a brutal murder made it a world event.

Bianca kept her head down as they passed Trudii Crompton speaking animatedly in front of a WFTN camera, and loosely clutched McManus's arm as they walked across the lush lawns between the black and purple flags flapping on the late afternoon breeze.

“You could've told me,” he said, low enough for only her to hear
.

He'd avoided her for hours, wouldn't even look at her, and he wanted to do this
now
. “Really, McManus? Not exactly the best time.”

“Maybe not.” He pulled her behind the trunk of a large, leafy oak tree. “But how can I trust you when you lied to me?”

“I didn't lie,” she said. “I just didn't tell you.”

“Why?”

She searched his face, the hurt and betrayal raw in his eyes. “It's been less than a week and I'm still trying to come to terms with it myself, let alone ready to share it with anyone else. Besides, you've made no secret of how much you hate magic.”

“No,” he said, frowning deeply. “I hate witches. There's a big difference.”

“How?” She stopped speaking and smiled politely at a couple who drifted close. “Blessed be.”

“Blessed be, sister . . . brother,” the woman said, linking her arm through her partner's as they walked in the same direction as the other mourners.

McManus waited until the couple was well out of earshot before speaking again. “Tell me why you weren't so keen to join your mother's coven.”

“Like I said, I think it's best to stay—”

“The real reason, Sin, not the excuse you gave your mother.”

She sighed. “They would've had expectations and put restrictions on—” She looked up at him. “Oh . . .”

He nodded. “That's what witches do, they control, they bend and twist things for their own purpose, and you'd be powerless to stop them. But you're right about one thing,” he said, taking her arm as another couple of mourners drifted close. “This probably isn't the right time.”

“So, you're okay with this?” she asked.

“No!” But he didn't say any more as they continued across the grounds.

Okay, maybe time to change the subject
. “Have you ever been to a coven funeral before?”

“Only when one of the Sisterhood passed away. There were three funerals in the Sanctum while I was there.”

“This will be different, very different. Weddings, births, and deaths are spectacles for my people,” she said. “One thing you must remember is to stay out of the ring of white stones around the funeral pyre. Only the family members or those of the same coven are allowed within the grief circle.”

“Thanks for the tip,” he said. “Anything else I should know?”

“Just take your cues from me.”

He nodded without looking at her and his eyes narrowed as they crested the slight hill. Several hundred people gathered in the valley below filled with tents, food, music, and a sea of purple. It looked more like festival than a funeral, but that's how her people did things.

“Holy shit,” McManus whispered. “I didn't think there'd be so many.”

“I tried to warn you. Given the family's rank, there'll be representatives from covens all over the world. The highest ranking will be closest to the pyre, the lowest will be at the back. And given that the Sin coven is ranked second in New York, we'll have ringside seats.”

It took more than twenty minutes to make their way through the crowd, and she found the Sin pavilion set up just outside the circle. Not even Gayla Hilden's animosity would've displaced their position.

Relief relaxed Artemisia's features as Bianca leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. “I was starting to wonder if you'd changed your mind.”

“No, just had trouble finding a parking space.”

“Go, say hello to your grandmothers.” Artemisia turned to McManus and held out her hand. “Welcome, Detective.”

Bianca left him with her mother and bent to kiss an impeccably dressed woman. “Hi, Grammy.”

“Hello sweetie,” her grandmother said, patting her on the cheek.

Bianca turned to her great-grandmother and squatted to eye level in front of her wheelchair. “It's so good to see you, Gi-Gi.”

“Child.” A smile split the old woman's face as she reached out and stroked her hair with cool shaky fingers. “It shouldn't take a death for us to get to see you.”

“I'm sorry, Gi-Gi.” She squeezed her great-grandmother's hand gently. “I'll make an effort to come visit more often.”

“And you can bring that new pet of yours too,” Gi-Gi said, looking to where McManus stood with her mother.

Bianca's eyes widened in surprise.

Grammy smiled. “She's right, he's quite the specimen. Artemisia, bring Bianca's new boy over here so we can get a better look.”

Bianca's cheeks heated. “Grammy, he's hardly a boy.”

Artemisia laughed, taking the detective's arm and leading him over. “Detective McManus, I would like to introduce you to my mother, Leticia Sin, and my grandmother, Bianca's namesake.”

McManus took Leticia's hand. His eyes went wide and Bianca could swear he was blushing.

“Fine specimen indeed,” Bianca's grandmother said.

“Mother!” Artemisia pulled McManus away. “And Grandmother. Behave yourselves. This is Bianca's colleague, not her lover.”

“Why not?” Gi-Gi asked as she stroked his hand with her ancient arthritic fingers. “He's got a good body under that suit, strong agile hands.” She looked at Bianca. “What's wrong with you, girl? Where's your Sin passion?”

“Gi-Gi,” Bianca complained. How could they embarrass her like this?

“Well, it's very nice meeting you anyway, Detective.” Gi-Gi smiled widely.

McManus just grinned and winked at the elder Sin. “The pleasure is all mine, ladies.”

A sharp horn blast interrupted any further conversation, and people took up their positions around the ring of white stones.

33

Life, Death, and Rebirth

M
cManus glanced to his right and caught Bianca's grandmother watching him again. She winked and he looked away with a smile. Who'd have guessed Bianca's family was filled with such lusty women?

Bianca had told him about the circle of white stones and the pyre, but he still wasn't completely prepared for the wooden dais adorned with flowers and ribbons sitting over a pile of kindling and firewood. They were actually going to burn the body in front of all these people. Surely there must be some sort of law against this kind of disposal of human remains?

A hush fell over the gathering as two women appeared in flowing white shifts, each of them holding a bouquet of wild flowers, with more woven into their long flowing hair. They chanted as they started down the path leading to the white stone border. Two more followed them, then two more, until a procession made its way to the circle, their voices filling the air with haunting beauty. As they carefully stepped barefoot into the circle of stones, the two lines split, heading in opposite directions, following the inside circumference of the white stone ring.

Bianca glanced at him and leaned closer. “The women of the coven are creating the circle to represent life, death, and rebirth,” she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

“I thought purple was your color of mourning?” he whispered.

“Not for the family or coven. It is white for purity of life.”

As the circle was completed, two lines of men appeared from the same place, balancing a platform on their shoulders. Like the women, they were barefoot and dressed in loose white clothing and proceeded down the path. Flowers filled the platform, Tiffany Hilden's body nestled among them. Her hair lay in dark ringlets threaded with flowers and she was dressed the same as the other women of the coven. Her face looked fresh and flush with life. None of the horror of her death marred her beautiful features, but she was dead, and nothing could change that.

Tiffany's father led the procession, his face set in a stony mask as he bore the burden of his daughter's body. The men carried the platform to the dais and carefully placed it on top, each stepping back and out of the circle.

“According to tradition, women are the bringers of life and ushers of death,” Bianca explained in a whisper. “The men must take their rightful place behind them.”

“Rightful?” McManus asked under his breath.

“I told you we were a matriarchal society.”

At the head of the path an ancient woman appeared, pushing an even more ancient woman's wheelchair. They were followed by an elderly woman, the Domina, and Astrid Hilden.

“This is the matriarchal line of the deceased coming to bid farewell to their lost daughter,” Bianca whispered. “The first is Tiffany's great-great-great-grandmother, who is a hundred and fifty-six years old, followed by her great-great-grandmother, her great-grandmother, then the Domina as her grandmother, and finally her mother.”

“Witches live a long time.”

She chuckled softly and looked over at her own forbearers. “Yes we do.”

“What's wrong with Astrid?”

Artemisia leaned over. “I hear she's taking the death of her daughter extremely hard. They've had to keep her sedated since the night of the murder.”

The woman stumbled. The Domina stopped, her face pinched with disapproval as she helped to her steady her daughter. McManus glanced at the dead girl's father, whose expression matched the Domina's.

A little harsh, since the woman just lost her only child.

They weren't the only ones looking on with interest. Another group just beyond Marcus Hilden whispered behind their hands, seeming to take delight in the poor woman's stumble.

“Who are they?” McManus asked, nodding to the group.

Bianca glanced at them. “That's the Manov coven. Should the Hilden coven fall out of favor, the Manov would be one of the forerunners to take their place.”

“ ‘One' of the forerunners?”

“There are three contenders,” Artemisia said. “The Manovs—Marcus's former coven; the Bruun; and of course us.”

“Your family is a rival coven?”

Bianca glanced at her mother and nodded.

Any one of them could be responsible for knocking off a rival family member. And yet, stolen fetuses didn't really fit well into that scenario.

Several other groups had pavilions around the circle. Some were dressed in more normal clothing, while others were dressed in full-on Wiccan robes. “What about those other groups?”

Bianca frowned and looked around. “They're the representatives from the other castes.”

The singing stopped suddenly as the five Hilden women took up positions around the pyre.

“Where are all the animals?” McManus asked.

“All this emotion upsets and confuses the familiars,” Bianca explained.

A solemn hush fell over the gathering. The Domina took her a place at the head of the funeral pyre and started to speak in a language McManus didn't understand. Bianca sat up straight, her attention riveted on the proceedings. McManus took his cue to shut up, but couldn't turn off his inner cop. He watched the crowd, every twitch, every nuance, trying to catch the unguarded look that may give away some hint of guilt.

There was a lot of awe and respect for the Domina, and there was also a lot of fear and hate. The old adage of keep your friends close and your enemies closer embodied this atmosphere.

Bianca and her elders kept reverent silence during the rite, but others whispered behind hands, and cast disapproving glances. As the head witch spoke the words, she also watched those around her. He could see her eyes resting on one then another, as if committing them to memory. She was arrogant, but she was no fool.

When she stopped speaking, the oldest of the witches rose from her wheelchair and pulled fire out of the thin air. The flames danced in their hands as it was passed from mother to daughter down the line, until all five witches stood before the funeral pyre, blue fire dancing on upturned palms. Tiffany's mother stood the closest to where McManus sat, with her back to them.

As the sun disappeared on the horizon, the witches each flung a stream of fire at the wood and kindling, engulfing the platform completely with the blue blaze. It burned bright and brilliant and then, as if all the air was sucked out from underneath the fire, the flames folded in on themselves and went out. The body looked untouched, her pale complexion still vibrant against her dark hair. Then, suddenly, it disintegrated into dust and fell to the earth, as if each particle that made the flesh had let go. Out of the ashes a pure white dove flew high and fast up into the darkening sky.

As the dove disappeared, the dead girl's mother stumbled backward across the white stones and collapsed in a heap. Bianca was out of her seat instantly, McManus a step behind her. Everyone else seemed to be watching the bird. Astrid Hilden roused, her eyes opened as Bianca pushed the hair back from her face, and seemed relieved to see her.

“Please, help me,” she whispered to Bianca. “You have to stop them. They won't let me—”

“Astrid?” the Domina yelled, rushing over to her side.

The witch glanced at her mother and then to her husband, who stood behind the Domina. Her eyes went wide, filling with fear as she tightly clutched Bianca's hand and whispered, “Please.”

The coven members surrounded them, quickly lifting Astrid up. As they whisked her away, Astrid glanced back at Bianca over her shoulder, desperation filling her drawn features.

“Astrid is having a difficult time,” Gayla Hilden said to them. “Please forgive her behavior.”

“There's nothing to forgive,” Artemisia said. “I can only imagine what it would be like to lose a child.” She squeezed Bianca's hand.

The Domina nodded quickly and turned to follow Astrid.