Witch Blood (17 page)

“Micah's been scouring the texts for any hint of demon spells that open doorways. While you were out with Adam, he finally found something. There are several ways to do it, all requiring the type of blood magick Boyle is using. The spells work like combination locks. The demon consumes and stores the energetic magicks of the witches, much in the same way an earth witch consumes and stores spells. Each witch must have a certain magickal makeup and they must be killed in a certain order and at certain times. If the demon takes the right witches at the right times, it unlocks a doorway.”

Isabelle sat up straighter, pulling the sheet around her. “Magickal makeup?”

“As far as Micah can tell that means the witches must possess a certain kind of magick and a certain level of power. The power patterns of all the witches registered with the Coven have been documented.”

She pushed a hand through her sleep-tangled hair, thinking. “Can you get all the files on the witches the demon has killed?”

“Yes…why?”

I have work to do before you.
That's what Boyle had said in the library. Did that mean other witches to kill before he came for her?

“I want to see if there's a pattern.”

He shook his head. “Even if we could find a pattern, I doubt we could predict the next witch he might go after. There are too many witches with similar power patterns for the information to be relevant. Micah has already thought about this. We wouldn't be able to narrow it down enough for it to be useful.”

“Maybe not, but I still want to check. The more information we have, the better.”

“I agree.” He kissed her shoulder. “I'll have Micah look into it.”

“Thank you.”

He gave her another lingering kiss while running his palm down her arm and over her exposed breast where she'd pushed the blankets away. Isabelle closed her eyes. Her body, even after so much recent erotic attention, reacted to him.

He dragged her lower lip between his teeth. “Now, shower time.”

She grinned. “What if I want to take a shower in my own bathroom?”

“You can't leave here until I lick the water rivulets running down this gorgeous body. After that I'll release you.”

Isabelle couldn't for the life of her find a flaw in that plan.

T
HOMAS WATCHED
I
SABELLE GO OVER THE RECORDS
of the demon's four victims, her hair a strawberry-blond curtain around her bent head and her tongue tucked firmly between her teeth as she concentrated. Thus far she'd been businesslike about the whole thing, even though her sister's records were in the batch she studied.

Along with Micah, he and Isabelle had spent the morning examining every piece of information they had on the flow of power of the four victims. Luckily, all the victims had detailed Coven records. Otherwise no type of analysis would have been possible.

Micah had entered the data into a software program he'd developed to look for patterns, but analysis would take some time. He was fussy with his numbers and had to tweak the recently created software to run the info through various sets of algorithms or whatever it was he'd been mumbling to himself about. His cousin had thrown himself into the project, heart and soul.

Someone knocked on the door. Thomas called
enter
and Adam stuck his head in. “You're not going to believe this.” His gaze went to Isabelle.

She looked up at Adam and frowned. “What?”

Micah seemed oblivious to everyone and everything except the keyboard and the flickering computer screen in front of him. He never stopped typing.

“Your mother is named Catalina, right?” Adam asked.

Her frown deepened. “Yes…why?”

“She's here.”

Isabelle blinked once and went very still. “As in at the Coven?”

“Yes. She's asking for you.”

“Great. Just when you think things can't get any worse, Catalina shows up.” She pushed her chair away from the desk, stood and gave a heavy sigh. “Where is she?”

“We put her in the second-floor receiving room.”

“Thanks, Adam.”

“She's, uh, interesting.”

“Interesting, yeah. That's one word of about five hundred you could use to describe my mother. All bad.”

“I'll come with you,” Thomas broke in.

She glanced at him. “Please. You can play wrestling referee if she pisses me off.”

“Sure thing.”

They headed out the door, leaving Micah crown deep in his analysis. If Thomas knew his cousin, he'd be awake all night running numbers and rearranging the input. He probably wouldn't even notice they'd left for a good hour.

Adam walked through the foyer and opened the front door. “Later. I'm off to meet Amy.”

“Amy! What happened to Elizabeth?” She waved a hand, cutting off Adam's answer. “Whatever. I don't want to know.”

Adam just grinned, shook his head and closed the door behind him.

“Oh, Lady, I don't want to do this,” she muttered as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. “What the hell is she doing here?”

Thomas let his hand glide along the banister. “Maybe she's here for you.”

Isabelle snorted. “That's optimistic. Clearly, you've never met my mother.”

They walked down the corridor to the formal room they used to receive visiting witches from other Covens or members of the Council. She stood for a moment outside the door as if gathering her strength, then entered the room, Thomas behind her.

A thin, polished blonde with a ram-rod straight spine rose from where she'd been sitting on a wine-colored couch. She turned toward them, her gaze going from him and fixing on her daughter. Apprehension showed on her strikingly beautiful face for a moment before haughty pride took over.

He'd met Catalina Novak once before, years ago, at a Coven dinner. She still looked the same, five foot seven inches of woman who would have looked her age but for the wonders of modern plastic surgery. Catalina had spent a bundle on it, too. She passed for forty when her records put her age closer to fifty-five. Expensively dyed honey blond hair hung to her shoulders, framing a face with hardly a wrinkle or laugh line to be seen. It was a face that most men would fall for. It was a face most men
had
fallen for. Catalina Novak had made a fortune snaring wealthy men. She'd been widowed twice by rich elderly men and divorced once from an oil baron who should have insisted on a prenup.

It jarred him to see Isabelle's eyes staring from that face, with its collagen-enhanced lips and artificially sculpted eyebrows.

Were Catalina's eyes the only original part of her chassis?

“Mother.” Isabelle's voice could have frozen the balls off a snowman.

“Isabelle.” She took a step forward and then stopped near the edge of a glass coffee table. “I came as soon as I heard.”

“You missed her funeral.”

Catalina looked at the floor. “A man named Micah tracked me down in Rome and got a message to me. I came as soon as I could.”

Isabelle pursed her lips. “I'm glad someone was able to locate you. I had no idea where to start looking. I left messages with all the men I could remember you having…
congress
with.”

“I'm sorry I didn't come sooner.” Catalina glanced up at Isabelle, but seemed unable to hold her gaze.

“Are you? Are you really, Mother? You not only missed her funeral, you missed her entire life. I'm surprised you even bothered to come now.”

“Do you think so little of me?”

Isabelle considered that for a moment. “Yes.”

She turned and gave Thomas a withering look. “Mr. Monahan, please excuse my daughter and the massive chip she has on her shoulder. This is an old issue between us. She hates me because I wasn't your regular
Leave It to Beaver
kind of mother. I gave her everything she needed but—”

Isabelle snorted.

Catalina turned that withering gaze back to her daughter. “
Everything
she needed, and yet—”

Thomas broke in, even while he knew he shouldn't. “Maybe children need more than just material things, Catalina. Maybe sometimes they need parenting, sometimes they need affection and love.” This was not his affair, but he cared too much about Isabelle to keep his mouth shut.

Isabelle's gaze shot to his face and locked for a moment. Then she gave him a smile that made his heart clench and warm at the same time.

Catalina blanched and looked away. She probably didn't like being reproved by the head of the Coven. Catalina was an extremely class-conscious type of person and he represented the head of the class itself.

“Why have you come, Mother?” Isabelle asked.

Catalina finally looked up into Isabelle's face. “I came to see you, Isabelle. I wanted to find out if you were holding up all right.”

Isabelle took a step toward her mother and then halted. “Really?” Hope and wariness warred in that one word.

“Don't sound so surprised. I do care about you, you know.” The words sounded genuine but were spoken awkwardly.

Thomas watched Isabelle shift her weight and frown, unsure how to react to her mother's admission.

“I know I've made mistakes, Isabelle.” Catalina took a couple steps toward her daughter. “Maybe I've
only
made mistakes. One of the reasons I came was to find out if there's a way we might be able to mend things between us.”

Isabelle shook her head. “I think I'm getting a headache. Did hell just freeze over?”

“Isabelle—” Catalina started.

She held up a hand. “We can deal with all that in a minute. What was the other reason you came?”

“To see if there was anything I was supposed to do as a result of Angela's death.” The older woman glanced away.

“I don't know what you're talking about. The funeral was months ago. Angela, what's left of her, is in the ground. I've met with the attorney and all her affairs have been dealt with.”

Catalina looked up from her shoes.

Isabelle sucked a sharp breath. “Oh. You're here about the will, aren't you?” She nodded. “Of course that's why you're here. I'm so stupid.”

Catalina lifted her chin. “It's not the primary reason I came. I wanted to see you, see how you were doing with everything. I came for you, Isabelle.”

Before Catalina had even finished her last sentence, Isabelle had turned away and wrapped her arms across her chest. “The will has been read, Mother. You weren't in it. There's nothing for you.”

Catalina shook her head. “That's not possible. Angela had some jewelry, diamonds. She said once that if she—”

Isabelle rounded on Catalina. “There was
nothing
in Angela's will for you. She left everything to me, even the diamond jewelry. I don't wear jewelry, so I plan to give it all to charity. You see, Mother, you came all this way for nothing.”

“Isabelle, you keep those diamonds in the family! Do you hear me? I will not allow you to give those Harry Winstons to charity!”

“What family, Mother? What we have is not family! Don't even use that word when you're talking about our relationship.” She narrowed her eyes. “And don't say another word to me about those diamonds.” Isabelle whirled, left the room, and slammed the door behind her.

Catalina stood frozen, staring at the door. “My daughter has always been a handful, Mr. Monahan. She's always been…volatile.”

Thomas took a moment to answer. “I like her that way.”

“That didn't go as well as I'd hoped. I don't know what's wrong with me.” Catalina's perfect face crumpled for a moment before she regained her composure. “I do want a relationship with her. I do love her, you know.”

“That's not something you should tell
me
, Catalina.”

She turned her gaze to his and he was jarred once again by Isabelle's eyes staring from her face. “You're with her romantically, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

“She won't stay with you, you know. She never stays. Isabelle is like me that way. She's a traveler, a mover. Isabelle might hate me, but she's a kindred spirit in that regard. Even when she was a child she liked it when I moved them between caregivers and countries.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

She licked her lips and glanced away. “I was not cut out for motherhood.”

“Then why have children?”

She shrugged. “It happens. You know Angela has”—she swallowed hard—“
had
a different father than Isabelle?”

“I suspected, yes.”

“They were both accidents. I never meant to have kids at all. It probably would have been better if I hadn't.”

“I strongly disagree. The world would have suffered for the lack of Isabelle and Angela.”

A smile flickered over her lips. “Through no help from me they both turned out well. Especially Angela. I still don't know how that happened. Must have been her father's genes. Isabelle is—”

“Perfect. Isabelle is perfect in every way.”

Catalina tilted her flawless face toward him. Vulnerability engulfed her expression for a moment. “Does she still have claustrophobia?”

Guilt filled his stomach with lead. When Isabelle had revealed her phobia of locked rooms right after he'd locked her in one, he'd felt so bad he would have done anything in the world to make it up to her. “Yes.”

“She has that fear because of me, because I left her with someone who mistreated them.”

“What?” Anger simmered. “Mistreated them? What are you talking about?”

She turned away from him, showed him her rigid back, and took a couple steps away. “They spent time with some people they shouldn't have once or twice.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe more often than that. Isabelle was a handful, always misbehaving. Once, when she was six, one of her caretakers locked her in a closet for four days. No food, no water, no light. She ended up in the hospital, would have died of dehydration if Angela hadn't spilled water under the door's crack. That's why Isabelle is claustrophobic. She used to have recurring nightmares, too.”

Four days
. She'd only been six years old.

The anger simmering in his blood came to a boil. He took a step toward the woman in front of him and clenched his fists so hard he probably drew blood from his palms with his fingernails. “Why are you telling me this?”

She turned toward him with sorrow in her eyes. “Because someone who cares about Isabelle needs to know.”

Thomas closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at the woman who had caused Isabelle so much pain. “I'm going to ask you to leave now, Catalina.” The words came out steadier than he'd expected.

“Yes, it's past time. I'm more than happy to since I failed so miserably with Isabelle.” She paused. “Where is Angela buried?” The words came out barely a whisper.