Mark of the Witch (10 page)

The bathroom was through a door to the right, and it was huge,
luxurious and apparently all mine.

I wanted to unpack but figured those steaks must be just about
done by now, and my stomach was growling noisily, which was often the case with
me. I took only enough time to discard my leather jacket, put on a fresh T-shirt
and grab a big woolly sweater from my bag. As I headed back down the stairs, I
heard the men talking in low tones, so I softened my steps and moved closer.

They were still on the deck. Tomas held a huge salad bowl in
his hands, and he’d apparently left the glass doors open when he’d carried it
outside. But it was Father Dom doing the talking as he repeatedly tapped the
page of an open book.

“…we must destroy the amulet the instant she manages to get her
hands on it. No matter what it takes, Tomas.”

I frowned. What amulet? What’s he talking about? One more step
brought me into Father Dom’s sight, and I pretended not to notice when he
slammed his book closed. But I’d had a glimpse at the handwriting and drawings
on the parchmentlike pages. It was one of those ancient leather-bound journals
that were a staple in movies about possession and the Devil and the end of the
world.

He removed it from the table, tucking it somewhere underneath.
“There she is now, the woman of the hour. And just in time, too. These steaks
are done to perfection.” He stood and moved to the grill, stabbing the meat with
a long fork and dropping the steaks onto large stoneware plates.

Tomas turned my way, and his eyes looked worried.

Probably wondering how much I just overheard. Not that any of
it made sense to me. But what I wouldn’t give to get a look inside that
journal.

“You made us a salad,” I said, because I didn’t know what the
hell else to say. Should I demand answers, or play it cool and pretend I hadn’t
heard a thing? “That looks delicious. Are we eating out here on the deck?”

“If you think you’ll be warm enough,” Tomas replied.

“I grabbed a sweater just in case. Can I get anything?”

“Dressing for the salad, glasses for the wine.”

“Done.” I pulled on my sweater and returned to the kitchen.
While I stood in front of the open fridge, I saw Dom pass from the deck to the
living room, the journal in his hands. Moments later I heard him going up the
stairs. When I headed back outside, I saw that his bags were gone.

* * *

So we sat like a trio of old friends on the beautiful
deck, overlooking the beautiful lake beneath the beautiful twilight sky, eating
delicious steaks and gigantic salads. But the cheerful small talk ended abruptly
when Father Dom, laughing over something I’d said that hadn’t been all that
funny, suddenly went dead serious, his eyes holding mine.

“How much, exactly, have you remembered about your past lives,
Indira?”

I blinked at him, gaping like a fish sucking air, then giving
up as no words seemed to suffice.

“She hasn’t remembered anything,” Tomas said. “A few bad
dreams, but—”

“So you agree with Tomas?” I asked the old priest, holding his
gaze without a single flinch. It felt vaguely disapproving, that look. “That
this is a past life thing? I mean, that’s what Lady Rayne said, but I—”

“Lady Rayne?”

“A friend of mine. A high priestess,” I said. I glanced
nervously at Tomas, wondering if I’d spilled something I wasn’t supposed to.

Father Dom shot a surprised look Tomas’s way.

Tomas shook his head—a bit too quickly, I thought. “She’s not
involved in this.”

She is so. She’s the one who tipped you
off about me, you liar. And why is it, I wonder, that you’re lying to your
beloved mentor, anyway?

Father Dom nodded, but I sensed his displeasure. Not that I
cared.

“Well, in this case,” Dom said, “the
high
priestess—
”

Was that sarcasm I heard in his tone? Was he
mocking
her status and title?

“—was correct. In 1501 BC and assuming you
are
the witch we’ve been searching for, you, along with two others,
were practicing witchcraft, and for that you were executed.”

“Yeah, that I get.” I was on my third glass of wine and feeling
it way more than I should. “But I don’t see how that got us involved in
this—this demon stuff.”

“Well, you were witches, after all,” Dom said. “Communing with
demons is part of the tradition.”

My jaw fell open. I looked at him, then at Tomas, and then at
him again. The old bastard was still rambling on as if he hadn’t just insulted
my entire religion. Former religion.

“—and while it’s not a part of the traditional interpretation,
it is my belief that you and the other two can only save yourselves, and redeem
your souls, by helping us to thwart this demon’s efforts and keep him in the
Underworld where he belongs.”

Redeem my soul?
If I’d had hackles,
they would surely have risen in fury. I tipped back my glass, downing the last
of my wine, then set it on the table with a quiet clink. “You think I’m damned,
don’t you? Both of you?”

They looked at me oddly, neither speaking. I stood up and told
myself it was just anger. My feelings were not hurt. I don’t know why it felt as
if they were, but they most definitely were
not.
I
didn’t give two shits what this pair of priests thought of me, my
religion—former religion—or the state of my soul.

“You do, don’t you? You think God will send me to hell for
something I did in a previous lifetime. And how does that work, anyway? I
thought you guys were all about heaven and hell and sometimes purgatory in
between? Not reincarnation. What do you do, just pick whichever doctrine fits
your needs at the moment?”

Tomas looked wounded as he got up, too, and held up a hand as
he came around the table toward me—you know, like you would do if you were
walking up to a spooked animal. “I never said that, Indira.”

“Then say it now. Tell the truth, Tomas. Do you think I’m going
to hell because I’m a witch?” For some reason the words didn’t come out quite as
smoothly as I’d intended them to.

He held my gaze for a long moment and seemed to be choosing his
words, but Father Dom spoke first. “Anyone who practices witchcraft will burn in
hell. You know that as well as I do, Indira. But we’re not here to try to
convert you. We’re here because we need your help. Your eternal soul and what
you choose to do with it are your own business.”

Tomas closed his eyes, lowered his head and shook it slowly.
“Dom…”

“You know what I just realized, Father Dom?” I asked. My tongue
felt strangely thick.

“What?” he asked, brows arching.

“You’re a real asshole.” I threw my napkin on the table and
spun around, intending to make a dramatic exit and stomp all the way to my room.
And it worked fine until I was inside. But my head started swimming at the foot
of the stairs, and I had to stop and grip the railing to keep from toppling like
a spindly sapling.

“Indy?” Tomas was at my side so fast I thought he must’ve
teleported there. He held my elbow with one hand, his other hand at the small of
my back.

I feel his hands on my back.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Damned ’f I know.”

“Probably the wine,” Father Dom said. He was slower arriving
but was also looking at me with concern on his face. “I’m sorry if I insulted
you. I’m far more dogmatic and old-fashioned than Tomas. I didn’t mean to step
on toes.”

“You insinuate my religion—my former religion, I mean—is so
dis’aseful…distaseful…” I was irritated at the way my tongue got stuck on the
t.
“…abhorrent to God that He would sennence me
to eternal hellfire for it, and all you can say is you’re not trying to sep on
my toes?” I frowned hard, my head swimming. I definitely sounded drunk. But I’d
only had three glasses of wine.

“Let me help you upstairs, Indy.” Tomas was close to me,
holding me, and I liked it. “You’ve had a few rough nights. It’s not surprising
the wine hit you so hard.”

“I c’d drink you unner the table, Priest.” Then I blinked.
“Hey, you guys din’t…spike it, did-ja?”

“Of course not,” Tomas said. “Come on, let me help you.” He
draped my arm around his big, solid shoulders. Then he anchored his own arm
around my waist, his broad strong hand resting on my hip, and started up the
stairs.

I leaned into him and felt a force—like one of us was a magnet
and the other one was steel—pinning me to him, pulling me closer, even though I
couldn’t
get
any closer. The feeling was intense,
body to body like that. It buzzed in my nerve endings, filled every empty space
inside me. It felt good. And right. And oddly…familiar.

I took two steps at his urging before my knees seemed to
liquefy and colors swirled in my head. Looking down at me, his expression
troubled, Tomas picked me up and carried me the rest of the way. My entire body
was enfolded in his strong arms, my side pressed to his chest, my head bouncing
softly against his shoulder as he trotted easily up the stairs with me. I tried
to link my arms around his neck, but my hands couldn’t seem to grip each other
and ended up dangling limply at my sides.

In my room, he managed to yank back the covers, and then he
lowered me onto the bed.

I tried to smile up at him, but it felt crooked and slightly
goofy, instead of provocative and flirty as I’d intended. “This is kinda sexy,
you know. Carrying me up those stairs like…like Rhett Butler. You gonna kiss me
now?”

“No, Indy. I’m not going to kiss you now.”

“Maybe later?”

“We’ll see.” He looked to me as if he was battling a smile,
even though there was worry in his eyes. “You get some sleep now, and we’ll talk
more in the morning.”

“I’m scared to go to sleep, Tomas. What’f I have ’nother dream?
I could walk right off that cliff outside.”

“I already thought of that.”

“You did?”

“Of course. You nearly sleepwalked off your own roof. I wasn’t
going to bring you to a cliffside cottage without taking some precautions. I
have motion sensors outside. Anything bigger than a coyote walks by them, an
alarm will sound in the house. And just in case, the cottage doors will all be
locked. Okay?”

“Why does a priest have motion sensors?” Was I drunk, or was
the growing feeling that maybe I was some sort of a prisoner here at all valid?
My eyes kept drooping closed, then popping open as he spoke.

“I’ve had them for years. I had a problem with deer getting
into the garden. Haven’t turned them on in ages, but I’ll make sure they’re
working before I go to bed tonight. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said. “I guess.”

“I’ll keep you safe, Indy.”

I searched his eyes. There was so much sincerity in them, so
much honesty. “I believe you.” And with those words my eyes fell heavily one
final time and I was dead to the world.

7

T
omas had a sick feeling in the pit of his
stomach as he stared down at the beautiful woman who was already asleep. She
shouldn’t be drunk. Not
this
drunk, anyway. Not on
three glasses of wine. Sighing, he moved to the foot of the bed to take off her
cowgirl boots. Three-inch heels. He didn’t know how the hell she stayed upright,
much less wore them all day. It took a lot of tugging, but he managed to get
them off, and then he peeled off the white ankle socks she wore underneath. Her
feet were pale and cool, and he instinctively rubbed them back to life before he
pulled the covers over her. He wasn’t sure how comfortable she would be in her
clothes, but there was no fixing that. At least she’d taken off her jacket.

“Careful, Tomas. She’s not on our side, you need to remember
that.”

Tomas turned, unsurprised to find Dom standing in the bedroom
doorway. “She’s not on anyone’s side, Dom. She’s only just learning what’s going
on here.” He swallowed what felt like sand in his throat and forced himself to
ask the question that needed asking. “Did you drug her?”

“Of course. We need to inspect her body for signs of the
demon’s presence. The markings that will prove once and for all whether she is
the one.” As he spoke, Father Dom moved close to the bed and took hold of the
covers to pull them back.

Tomas grabbed his wrist—not forcefully, but firmly. “There’s no
need.” The words on his lips were
over my dead body,
but he managed to hold them in. He had never seen this side of Dom before, and
it was freaking him out. He even wondered if the old man had something wrong
with him. A tumor, or maybe a ministroke, affecting his brain.

“We already know she’s the one. And besides that, I’ve already
seen the marks on her body.”

Dom’s brows, bushy and white, rose in dual arches. “Have you,
now?”

“I did. First the lashes of the whip across her back, from her
torture long ago. A tattoo that looks like cuneiform on her lower back that
appears and fades away. And then, just this morning, phantom writing cut into
her arms. I tried to get a photo before it vanished.”

“Show me.”

“I… It’s on her cell phone. My own was…out of reach.”

Tomas looked around the room for Indira’s handbag. It was on
the floor, along with her still-packed duffel. Father Dom spotted it at the same
time and started forward, but Tomas held out a hand. “I really think we ought to
wait until she’s awake and not go through her things while she’s—”

“Did I make a grave mistake in choosing you for this mission?”
Father Dom asked. “Are you going soft on the demon’s whore?”

“She’s not a demon’s anything, not in this lifetime. And I’m
only suggesting we respect her privacy while she—”

“Her privacy could get us both killed and unleash the devil’s
right hand on the world. Is that what you want?” Father Dom shoved Tomas aside
with a surprisingly strong arm, and grabbed Indira’s handbag. It was
unzipped.

Tomas yanked it out of his hand. “I said no.”

But as the bag pulled free of Dom’s grasp, things went flying
out of it, the BlackBerry among them. Dom picked it up, his eyes telling Tomas
he wouldn’t take no for an answer. A moment later, he was holding it at arm’s
length and squinting as he scrolled through her photos. He shook his head in
frustration. “They’re too damned small to even tell what they are!”

“Give it to me,” Tomas said, holding out a hand. “I’ll email
the photos to myself, so we can both get a better look at them on the computer.”
He didn’t bother adding that Dom needed bifocals and was too stubborn to get
them. More important, that he thought the old man was out of line. Way out.

Grunting, Dom handed him the phone. “We still have to go
through the rest of her things—she might have acquired the amulet already.”

“She hasn’t.” Tomas sent the email, then closed the phone and
returned it to Indy’s purse, along with the other items that had flown loose.
Then he draped the strap over the bedpost and found himself pausing to glance at
her as she slept.

Her blond hair was tousled, her thick, lush lashes resting
heavily on cheeks that seemed a little too pale. She was still fully dressed.
Couldn’t be comfortable.

“What did you give her?”

“Nothing that’ll hurt her, not that it should concern you. We
must use whatever means it takes to keep her from helping the demon escape his
prison. If she gets hurt, too bad for—”

“She’s a human being, Dom!”

“She’s a sleeper agent in a terrorist plot. Even she may not
know yet who she really is, what she was born to do, how many times she has
reincarnated just waiting to fulfill her destiny. To help a demon enter our
world.” His gaze shifted to Indira, but he wore a look of disgust. “Or maybe she
already knows. Either way, she’s on his side, not ours. Not God’s.”

“I don’t think she wants to help him,” Tomas said. “She’s not
evil.”

“She’s a witch in league with a demon, Tomas. And you’re a
priest.”

Tomas nodded, unable to argue with that point. He
was
a priest. For now. He pulled a blanket over Indy.
“At least she’ll finally be able to get some sleep,” he said.

* * *

I was once again wearing the costume of a belly dancer
or something similar: one-shouldered and sheer, my breasts easily visible
through the soft ivory fabric. I was glad, because it served as a distraction to
the guards who’d just burst into the courtyard where Magdalena and I had been
sitting in silent meditation, keeping watch while our sister entertained her
lover in the sleeping quarters just beyond.

We saw them coming. I waved Magdalena away and tried to block
her scurrying exit with my body, looking the approaching pair of guards up and
down suggestively, smiling at them as if in approval of what I saw.

The guards didn’t react to my charms at all. “Where is your
sister?” one of them said.

Actually, that wasn’t what he said at all. What he said was a
bunch of gibberish that must have come straight out of the Tower of Babel. But
what I heard was its modern-day English equivalent.

“Which one?” I asked, stalling for time. I knew Magdalena would
be trying to warn Lilia and her lover that they were about to be caught.

“Lilia.”

I shrugged. “I believe she is tending to her…personal
cleanliness, sir,” I said, using a respectful, slightly sexual tone I thought he
would prefer. “But I am here, if the king requires—”

His arm swung out, backhanding me across the face so hard I
fell to my knees. That was when I knew this was serious. The guards strode past
me, their steps harsh on the white stone floors, and I prayed Lilia was up and
clothed and her lover hidden. Magdalena had rushed off only seconds ahead of the
guards, and I knew there had been little time.

I scrambled to my feet and ran after them. “Wait!” I cried.
“You cannot just march through our sanctuary this way, uninvited. The king will
be furious. Wait! I’ll tell him, I swear—”

“Silence, woman.” And then they reached their destination,
yanking the curtain down, rather than open, tearing the rich red fabric.

Inside the room, on their feet but still naked, were Demetrius
and Lilia. I marveled at my sister’s beauty, even then. And Demetrius—he was
like a god. He quickly snatched up a coverlet and wrapped it around Lilia, but
not before I’d seen the mark on her back. A tattoo, down low. Three rows of
symbols. I knew that we all bore them, all three of us, and I knew what they
meant.
Daughter of Ishtar.

Demetrius tried to protect her, standing between her and the
soldiers, but then one of the guards marched up behind him and, even as I
shouted a warning, swung his mace hard. The ball hit Demetrius in the head, and
he went down like a felled cedar.

Lilia screamed and dropped to her knees beside him, but the
guard kicked her away, sending her onto her back, leaving her chin split and
bleeding.

“Take him to the king,” the guard ordered.

The second guard took Demetrius by one arm and dragged him,
unconscious, perhaps dead, from the room. Magdalena, who’d been standing to one
side of the door, rushed to Lilia and hugged her hard, while I stood there,
trembling in fear of what was to come.

The remaining guard began searching our room. He lifted each
cushion to look beneath and feel within, and when he felt weight, he used his
blade to slash the fabric and pour out the contents.

And there they were for all to see. Our wooden wands, our
mortar and pestle, our herbs and stones and our pentacle pendants, which we wore
when we worked our magic. Our
forbidden
magic.

He turned to look at us. “Magic is to be worked only by the
High Priest. You have broken the law.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, hurrying forward, intent
on gathering up our precious items, only to meet with the flat of his hand to my
chest, holding me away. “There is no magic here. We only hide our favorite
belongings to keep the other girls from stealing them. I suppose they told you
we were up to something dark and forbidden, didn’t they?”

He looked at me, brows rising. I wished Magdalena would stop
sniffling. It didn’t help.

“They are only jealous,” I went on. “My sister Lilia is the
king’s favorite. They are trying to hurt us with their ridiculous
accusations.”

“Mmm. I see,” the guard said. “They were lying, then, when they
accused you of practicing witchcraft.”

“Witchcraft! Is that what they said?”

“Just as they were lying when they claimed the king’s most
trusted lieutenant was bedding his most beloved concubine?”

“It…it was not what it seemed.”

“Do not tell me what I witnessed with my own eyes, slave girl.”
The soldier looked past me, and I was shocked to realize more guards had entered
our chambers, along with an apprentice priest with eyes like melted chocolate,
who stared into my eyes for a long moment. It was I who looked away.

“Take them,” the leader said. “Take them all to the king. I
will gather and bring the evidence. Send for the High Priest, as well. We will
need his counsel.”

The men rushed into our rooms, and there was no resisting them.
I thought of wielding my powers but knew that would only prove our guilt. I
hoped, even then, that we could talk our way out of the mess.

I whispered a spell of protection, beamed healing energies
toward my injured sister as the guard pulled her to her feet, and decided it was
best to go along, pretending to be docile and weak. Perhaps we could still
convince the king to believe us.

Though only, I thought, if he were a complete idiot.

As the guards marched us away, I met Magdalena’s eyes and saw
the tears brimming in them. Lilia cried loudly, sobbing so hard she could barely
breathe. I tried to convey to them that they should be calm and watchful, as I
was. Awaiting an opportunity, calculating a plan.

But they did not see my message, or perhaps they did not want
to. Maybe they already knew we were doomed.

* * *

I woke with my sister’s name on my lips.

Lilia.

That was the name of the woman I’d seen in my cauldron, after
the spell I’d been trying to cast in my apartment. She was my sister! Or had
been, in some other lifetime, far, far in the distant past.

She was my sister. And the woman who’d gotten me killed.

And
a witch. There had been three
of us. All witches. Just like Tomas and Father Dom had been telling me.

I sat up in the bed, hand to my forehead, because it was
pounding. The resurgence of the past was almost too powerful to contain within
my brain. I suppose my skull was only designed to hold the angst of one
lifetime. No wonder it felt as if it were about to split open.

Still nothing about any demon, however.

Sitting upright, I noticed I was still dressed and lowered my
feet to the floor. Bare feet. I saw my boots standing near the foot of the bed,
my handbag hanging from a bedpost. Tomas. It must have been.

I was ridiculously glad he hadn’t undressed me, and that
feeling of relief was followed immediately by the question of why not? Most men
would jump at the apparently logical excuse to get my clothes off. Why not
him?

Because he’s a priest,
dumb-ass.

For some reason there were tears burning the backs of my eyes,
and I didn’t even have the strength to fight them. I just lowered my head into
my hands and sobbed so loudly I never heard the door open, or the soft steps of
the very man I’d been thinking about approaching me.

But I felt him, oh, I felt him. His hands on my shoulders,
squeezing gently, and then just one of those hands moving to my head, stroking
my hair, softly.

When I didn’t look up, he knelt and tipped his head. “What
happened, Indira? Another nightmare?”

I nodded, still crying too hard to speak.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Indy. Do you want to talk about
it?”

Sniffling hard, I lifted my head and met his eyes. His
melted-chocolate eyes. Through swimming tears I saw him. And for just an instant
he seemed unbearably familiar. It was a wave of…something. Déjà vu? It washed
over me and tugged me closer to him. My face moved toward his as he stayed where
he was, staring at me. I closed my eyes, and then I pressed my mouth against
his, sobs still racking my chest.

He pressed back, I swear he did. I felt it, the way his lips
pushed back, then parted just a little. I knew he tasted my tears, because I
tasted them, too.

And then he pulled back and stared at me.

“I’m…sorry,” he said.

“I did it. Not you.” And somehow my crying jag had eased. The
residual hiccup-sobs were still hitting me every few breaths, but my tears had
stopped falling.

“Still…” He rose to his feet and refused to meet my eyes. “If
you’re up to it, would you come downstairs? I have the photos we took in that
restroom up on the computer. Father Dom and I were looking at them last night,
and I’d like you to take a look at them this morning.”