Mark of the Witch (12 page)

“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

T
omas 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.”

“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.”

But not more dangerous than Dom knew, Tomas thought.

* * *

I was becoming tired of being surrounded by people who
saw everything as a sign, as some otherworldly message, a clue. People who
blamed everything on gods or devils, and who considered praying or casting
spells to be the maxed-out top of their personal responsibility. I’d forgotten
for a while there just why I’d walked away from organized religion of any
kind.

Religious people were all alike. Every one of them. Leaning on
crutches that were inventions of weak minds. There was a logical explanation for
what was happening to me. I had only come here to rule out the illogical ones.
And yeah, maybe I had also let myself be swayed by those milk-chocolate eyes and
the urge to drag my fingers through that thick, dark hair.

At least that was what I was still trying to believe.
Admittedly, that meant that what was happening to me was some kind of mental
breakdown, which wasn’t a much more pleasant prospect than past lives and a
vengeful demon. But a little.

Okay, maybe deep down inside I knew better, and maybe that
knowing was growing bigger by the minute, but I wasn’t ready to concede.

Not just yet. It scared me to realize how close I had come to
buying into the crazy. But demons didn’t plant bombs. People did. Ordinary human
dirtbags. Often in the name of religion, which was another reason I disliked
it.

We headed into another gorgeous building—the architecture on
the Cornell campus was still blowing me away with every freaking building we
passed—and wove through a couple of hallways and up one flight to Professor
Yates’s office. He booted up his computer and looked over at Tomas.

As Jon stepped out of the way and Dom looked on, Tomas sat down
behind the desk and began tapping keys. Jonathon looked up and met my eyes.
“There’s coffee—only about an hour old—if you want,” he said, nodding toward a
small table in the corner.

I went for it. Now that I was back on the juice, I got grouchy
if I didn’t get enough of it. He had a few heavy mugs, white with green stripes
around the tops. I filled one, searched for creamer and wondered why coffee
always tasted better out of just the right kinds of mugs. Like these.

“Mini fridge,” Jonathon said, reading my mind and nodding
toward another corner.

I was stirring the thick cream—not half-and-half, real cream,
because clearly the prof knew how to live—into my mug, watching its golden
swirls transform my coffee, when Tomas said, “It’s gone.”

“What’s gone?” I asked.

“The video of you kicking the hell out of those subway muggers
without ever touching them, and screaming at them in what I think was ancient
Babylonian.”

I sighed in relief, taking a drink and knowing that any second
he’d be asking for my phone, where the video was saved.

I was licking my lips, savoring the taste of what had to be
some kind of exotic blend, when blackness descended like a heavy curtain
dropping faster than an ancient Babylonian witch from a cliff. I heard the cup
break on the floor at my feet. A momentary feeling of utter remorse for the
wasted delight washed through me as hot liquid spattered my boots. But other
than that, I pretty much checked out at that point.

* * *

Tomas had been just about to ask Indy for her phone when
suddenly she dropped her mug and stood with her arms pulled behind her back. Her
feet were together, body tilted slightly forward as if she was standing on a
precipice and about to fall over. And damn if there wasn’t a breeze moving her
hair.
Inside
the office.

He shot out of the desk chair. Everyone else in the room had
frozen in place, just staring at her. She stood there, eyes closed, hair wafting
in a breeze that seemed to grow stronger, lifting it higher.

“What the hell is—”

“Shh,” Tomas said, cutting Jon off, then gesturing to include
them all in the command. And then he approached her, carefully, cautiously. “I’m
here to help you,” he said softly.

“Atta balt_ata u anāku mūt
i-ta-x!”