Blood of the Sorceress. Maggie Shayne

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      So she held them a long time when she hugged them, then held them again after the huge breakfast Selma insisted on making for her. Saying goodbye to the woman she accepted as her mother in every way that mattered was painful. Seeing Selma’s tears was almost too much to take.

      And then her sisters drove her to the airport and walked her to the security checkpoint, which was as far as they could go.

      Magdalena kissed her cheek. “Come back to us, okay? You have to come back to us.”

      “If it looks like he’s gonna refuse,” Indy said, “call while there’s still time, so I can come try to … persuade his sorry ass.”

      “I will.”

      “You’d better.”

      “I … love you both so much,” Lilia said. “You kept your vow to me, to him, even when it nearly cost you everything. I’m so grateful to you for that. And for taking me in now, so many lifetimes later. For everything you’ve done for me. Teaching me how to live in this time, the quirks of the language, how to dress, buying me clothes, the phone, lending me money. So much money.”

      “Hey, Lena married a billionaire,” Indy said. “Ryan can afford it.”

      “Still …” Lilia looked at the clock. “I have to go.”

      “Say the word and we’ll be there,” Magdalena said. “Goddess, Lil, I don’t want you to go.”

      “We haven’t come this far to fail now, brave sisters. Trust me, we will be together again. And soon.”

      As she turned to make her way through the security check, Lilia wished she felt as sure of that as she had sounded.

      Demetrius looked out from his balcony over the property and remembered Father Dom’s arrival three days ago. The old priest had waved a hand expressively to indicate the beautiful grounds spread out below the small patio table where the two of them had been sitting over coffee. “This place is like a fantasy come true,” he’d said with a nod. “Obviously you’ve figured out how to use your … powers already.”

      Demetrius, who’d been sitting across the table from the old man, had tried to read his face. He didn’t know Father Dom, hadn’t trusted him, and he’d had no intention of giving anything away. But he’d very definitely wanted to know what the old cleric knew, or thought he knew, about him.

      “I wished for this. Visualized it in great detail. And it came to me. Is that what you mean by my … powers?”

      “You have the chalice and the blade,” the old man said. “Using the two together can bring desires and ideas, anything from the astral plane, into physical form. Did you use them before you acquired all this?”

      “I was messing around with them.” Demetrius shrugged, unwilling to reveal that he’d performed a rite according to a voice in his head, a female voice, and that he had apparently brought her into physical form from the astral plane, as well. And yes, all of this, too. But first, her.

      “Have you noticed any other powers attached to those tools of yours?”

      “The chalice and the blade?”

      “And the amulet, of course.” The priest nodded at the piece Demetrius wore around his neck.

      So he knew about that, as well. “They have other powers?”

      “That’s what I was asking you. Do they?”

      “Not that I’m aware of.” It was a blatant lie. “Are they supposed to?”

      “Not that I’m aware of,” the priest lied back.

      And it was a lie. The old man knew. Demetrius was sure of it. That priest knew the blade could blast energy like a laser, could set things on fire and even blow them up. And he must know what the amulet did, as well. He was dying to ask.

      All in good time, though. I have to be careful. Men would kill to possess tools like these.

      “You said you knew about me, about where I come from,” Demetrius said, choosing his words with care.

      The priest nodded slowly. “Everything that has brought you to where you now find yourself springs from another lifetime, Demetrius. A lifetime in the distant past. You have been human before, you know.”

      “Have I?” He had to hold himself still in his seat, will himself not to lean forward and gaze at the old priest in rapt interest. He tried to keep a cool demeanor, to relax and not look too eager.

      “You lived in ancient Babylon, in the sixteenth century, BC.”

      A flash came and went in his mind. Swirling veils, bronze-skinned bellies, feminine arms twisting like snakes. Dancers in the desert. Just like his dreams. The blonde woman, she’d been there—though she hadn’t been a blonde then. And two others with her. The three witches?

      “What did I … do there?” he asked, aiming for a skeptical, nearly bored, tone.

      “You were the First Soldier of King Balthazorus,” the priest said. He lowered his head as he said the name, the way Demetrius had observed other people did when mentioning someone they’d known who had died.

      “I was a Babylonian soldier. Fascinating.” He tried to sound amused, as if the notion were silly. But deep down he felt a stirring of … something. Memory?

      “You were seduced and then betrayed by three women. Witches, all of them. Slaves in the King’s harem.”

      So they had been there with him, those three. Those same three, they had to be. Was that why they had to help him now? Because they had betrayed him in some long ago existence he didn’t even remember? Or want to remember.

      “What did these … witches … want with me?” he asked at length.

      “What any witch wants. Power. They wanted power over you. For though they lived in luxury, they were, after all, slaves. Owned by the King, forced to serve him for his pleasures. They wanted what any enslaved person wants. Freedom.”

      “Freedom,” Demetrius repeated. He knew about wanting freedom. He’d wanted it even before he’d known what it was.

      “They used their charms to seduce you to the point where you would do anything for them. Even murder the King you were sworn to serve. Which you did, my friend. Which you did.”

      “I murdered the King?”

      There was another flash in his mind. An ornate room that belonged in a palace, golden relics and rich fabrics everywhere. Exotic oil lamps out of one of the tales about Ali Baba sent thick black ribbons of smoke into the air. A bearded man stood before him, shaking his head sadly while Demetrius struggled against the soldiers who held his arms.

      “You cannot have them killed! Blame me for this. Take my life, not theirs. Not Lilia’s!”

      But the King wouldn’t even look him in the eye. “You betrayed me. You, my most trusted soldier. My … my friend …” When the King finally raised his eyes they glinted СКАЧАТЬ