Mark of the Witch. Maggie Shayne

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      “Dom took me in when I was a kid.”

      “Took you in—”

      “I was an orphan.”

      “You were an orphan?” Wait a minute, did my voice just sound like a cheerleader spotting a puppy?

      “That’s really not on topic at all, though. You were asking why we need to go to Ithaca.”

      He was changing the subject. And just when I’d decided I was far more interested in his sad childhood than I was in some moldy old Babylonian legend. Even if I was somehow intrinsically involved in its fulfillment.

      “The Portal is somewhere in Ithaca, at least according to Dom’s calculations. By going there, we can not only prevent the demon from coming through this time but destroy him utterly.”

      “Huh,” I said.

      “What?” He looked at me, brows raised.

      “Well, it’s just that—” I shrugged. “I mean, just playing demon’s advocate here, but … the dude’s been in this underworld slammer for three thousand five hundred years now. It seems a little harsh. A lot harsh when you add ‘destroy him utterly’ to the equation. What did he do, anyway?”

      Tomas tipped his head to one side. “I don’t know.”

      “You never asked?”

      He shrugged. “It seemed enough that he’s a demon.”

      “Isn’t that what they said about witches during the hysteria? I mean, can he even help being a demon?”

      “You’re confusing the issue.”

      “I don’t know that I am. Couldn’t he be a good demon? Couldn’t he have been rehabilitated by now? Open your mind, Padre. Think outside the box.”

      He looked at me as if I’d just sprouted horns and a forked tail.

      “There’s no such thing as a good demon.”

      “That’s what the witch-hunters said about us.”

      “What he did isn’t as important as what he will do, given the chance.”

      “And what’s that? What’s this big bad demon’s dastardly goal? No, wait, wait, I remember.” I leaned forward, hands on my hips in a superhero pose. “He wants to take over the world.”

      “I can’t believe you’re making jokes about this, Indira. Especially given what’s been happening to you.”

      I only shrugged and looked away.

      He pulled into the long line of traffic heading onto the bridge, and took the opportunity to turn and stare intently into my eyes. “The goal of every demon is the same. Destruction of all that’s good. Perversion of the sacred. Power over the world of man. He could become the anti-Christ, Indy.”

      I just sat there staring at him, trying to determine whether he actually believed his own words. I mean, he suddenly sounded like a fire-and-brimstone pulpit thumper in a revival tent. I wondered if that was him talking or if he was channeling his precious Dom, and I decided on the latter. “Uh-huh. So we’re going to Ithaca to face and annihilate the anti-Christ.”

      He sighed, lowered his head. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

      “Not so much, no.”

      Traffic was at a standstill. His hands gripped the wheel, bumping each other right on top, and I could tell he was squeezing hard.

      “And none of it really seems to tie in with what’s been happening to me. The dreams. The marks.” I touched his shoulder, and he picked his head up fast. “Can you tie it together for me? ‘Cause I’m kinda lost.”

      He nodded. “You and your two sisters lived during the time when he was cast into the Underworld. And you’re the only ones with the power to destroy him.”

      “So it’s past life stuff. Destiny stuff. That kind of thing.”

      He nodded.

      I drew a deep breath, blew it out again. “This is scary as hell, you know that?”

      “I know.” He turned and looked me in the eyes, reaching out to clasp my hands in his. I sucked in a breath and stared down at them. I knew he was only trying to comfort me a little, but it felt like way more. And he felt something, too, I knew he did. The way my hands fit inside his, the warmth of them, and their size and shape and strength. The strangest feeling washed over me as we sat there, facing each other in the comfy front seat of the old Volvo, our eyes locked onto our joined hands as we both began to tremble. It was vivid. Surreal. Dizzying. Like déjà vu.

      “Tomas?” My voice emerged soft and raspy, and it didn’t help matters. He looked up, into my eyes, and I knew he was as shaken as I was. What was this?

      Behind us, an idiot laid on his horn, and we jerked apart. Traffic had moved on without us. I blinked and sat back in my seat, looking anywhere but at Tomas. He pulled the car back into motion, but it bucked and stalled. So he was as flustered as I was. Then he quickly started it again and got moving.

      I wanted to change the subject—because really, no matter what was happening to me, it wasn’t that big. It couldn’t be. I was just … me. Not some soldier in a war between God and the Devil or whoever. “I never had breakfast this morning,” I said. Damn, my voice had this funny little tremor underneath it. “And I’m starved.”

      “Okay.”

      She was afraid, Tomas thought. Scared to death of the horrors he was likely to reveal to her if they kept on talking, and putting off that moment of revelation for as long as she possibly could.

      She’s arguing for the demon’s side, and probably trying to ensorcell you while she’s at it.

      That was not his own inner voice. That was Dom, lecturing him on the powers of the witch. And while he might have changed his mind about disbelieving the rest of this, he was standing firm on that.

      Food was an agreeable distraction, and when he located an IHOP about an hour later and pulled in, he knew by the look of rapture in her eyes that she hadn’t only been making excuses to end the conversation. She was, by all appearances, ravenous.

      And beautiful.

      Difficult for him to believe she was one of the three witches whose souls were allegedly bound to a demon. And that was only a small part of what was unbelievable about all of this.

      Dom had warned him repeatedly these chosen witches were cagey and clever, and might or might not be aware of their mission, but that he must always presume they were and guard against their tricks. They were powerful women, all three of them. They would sense a man’s weakness and use it against him.

      Tomas had rolled his eyes at the notion. He’d never thought he had any real weaknesses. Oh, he didn’t believe himself perfect by a long shot, but he didn’t think he had any particularly lethal vulnerabilities.

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